


Mésentente cordiale (English Version)

by HetepHeres



Category: Zorro (TV 1990)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family, Gen, Humor, Lies, Romance, Science, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 63,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1978134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HetepHeres/pseuds/HetepHeres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NWZ, post-show. Felipe gets into trouble. Later, Zorro/Diego meets a señorita who's not very favourably impressed by Zorro-the-"Hero" but is rather enthusiastic about Diego de la Vega's scientific and curricular achievements. Despite his failure to understand such interests, Alejandro sees this as a last resort to finally marry off his son, but Diego is a bit biased about her and takes a slightly dim view on her. And what does Victoria think of this all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ch 1

Sergeant Jaime Mendoza was a man who loved tranquillity. Strange idea in this case, you say, to join the army. But beyond the desire to serve his king and to ensure the safety of his fellow citizens, all things being _a priori_ good enough reasons to opt for this career, Jaime Mendoza had somehow found in the army the means to get to the rather uncomplicated life he was aspiring to: the army was, in a sense, a reassuring framework whose organisation spared him complications by often simplifying the soldier's life. Indeed, this barrack life was essentially made of instructions to follow and orders to obey without too much further thinking.

Yes, for a soldier under the command of alcaldes such as Ignacio de Soto – or Luis Ramone before him – it was better not to think too hard, on pain of finding themselves facing some ugly dilemmas for a man whose heart was as kindly and benevolent as was Jaime Mendoza's.

Yes, the thorn in our good Sergeant's flesh was the accession to power, several years ago, of the two men having successively been appointed to this post for the pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Ángeles del Río de Porciúncula. Before that, he had always felt that in fulfilling his duty he was defending and serving the people – this very people he belonged to. Now... Now making his duty agree with his conscience had become more complicated. As was tuning the obedience of the good soldier and the precepts of the good Christian, the decency of the human being he wanted to be and remain. _Everything_ had become more complicated in the recent years.

And Jaime Mendoza did not like complications.

That's where his thoughts had wandered while he was idly patrolling the countryside – or rather the _desert_ – surrounding the pueblo with a troop of lancers under his command, in the highly unlikely event that a bandit would not have heard them approach and would have let himself be caught in the act, when he was interrupted in his bitter thoughts by a cry.

Or more precisely cries. But not screams, no. Rather plaintive whimpers.

A _woman's_ whimpers.

Halfway between groans and moans of pain.

Mendoza and several of his soldiers heard and turned their heads all around to try and determine where these sounds came from.

Then suddenly the cries became more pleading, more imploring, more piercing; more imperative too:

"NO! No, don't do that!"

This time the soldiers all turned the head in the same direction.

"NO, stop! You mustn't... NO, let go of that!" the voice shouted again.

Over there, on their left, they spotted a horse that seemed slightly familiar to Mendoza without him being able to immediately remember who owned it. A little further another saddled horse trotted with a slight limp, shaking his head from time to time, circling around a small heap of rocks and bushes, a bit aside from the road.

Then the voice went on with greater intensity:

"What are you doing? NO, don't touch me, get back! Let go of me! Let me…"

Mendoza motioned to his patrol to move towards the source of these pleas that seemed to precisely come from behind the rocks, and he put his horse into a canter.

"NO! No, please don't do that! I beg you! Unhand me! Don't touch me! Don't touch me! N– AAAAAAAAAH!"

The woman's last scream tore the relative quietude of the desert over many hundred feet around, making several broods of birds fly off and the two horses rear while Mendoza and his men finally arrived on site bypassing rocks and shrubs, weapons drawn to help the unfortunate victim.

The sight displayed then and there before his eyes first left the sergeant voiceless for one or two seconds, then he flew off the handle to the point that he pointed his sword straight ahead, shaking with anger.

On the ground and just before his horse, a woman was lying flat on her back, now unconscious, with a fresh reddening bruise on her temple, her cheek scratched and slightly bleeding. A man was half lain down over her, his back to Mendoza, and with his bended left arm he was pinning her shoulders to the ground while his right hand was holding her left arm down. Roughly a cubit away from there lay a knife that the man had probably dropped in order to get a better hold on his victim. Lowering his eyes a bit, the sergeant saw that the woman's skirts and petticoats were rolled up to the top of the right knee, and even up to mid-thigh. A sizable trickle of blood was running down the inner side of her knee.

Sickened by so much cowardice and barbarism, Mendoza pointed the tip of his sabre to the man's back and prodded his spine while barking his orders at him:

"Unhand her at once! Stand up slowly, no sudden move or I swear I skewer you like a beef's rump steak!"

But feeling the tip of the sabre between his shoulder blades made the other man turn his head to look behind, and as Mendoza recognised him the sergeant realised that all his refined eloquence toward the attacker was totally lost on him; at the same time he received his second shock within a few seconds. But it was even more astounding, confusing, appalling and bewildering than the first one. Even more _unsettling_ , in a word.

The weapon still pointed at the young man, Mendoza opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish out of water, in utter disbelief, but as no sound came out, he remained as silent as his vis-à-vis.

_The de la Vegas' deaf-mute?_

Then slowly the reality of the scene the sergeant was witnessing seemed to sink in and he finally recognised the familiar horse as the mount the young man usually used; then slowly, almost painfully, in sheer disbelief and still in shock, Mendoza managed to utter a single word:

"F-F-... Felipe???"

 _That_ was quite a complication. And Jaime Mendoza didn't like complications.


	2. ch 2

The ride back to the pueblo was difficult and unpleasant. Personally, Sergeant Mendoza was in no hurry to get there, but the woman had not regained consciousness and that was sufficiently worrying in itself to make them hurry up a bit and take her to the village’s only doctor.

She had therefore been hoisted up onto Corporal Sepulveda’s horse, and he was holding her in a sitting position, her back propped against his torso, his right arm around her and his left hand holding the reins while he brought his mount to a trot. She was as limp as rag doll, but much heavier, and more cumbersome too; however, looking at it fast enough, one could have almost thought of them as a loving couple taking a romantic horse ride: _her_ , pressed against his chest, like revelling in his arms; _him_ , embracing her gently, his arm wrapped around her, his hand on her stomach... Well, except that when he was holding a woman in his arms, the corporal thought, he greatly preferred that she was conscious and aware – and _consenting_ , he added inwardly, remembering what had led to the present situation.

Felipe had tried to defend himself, to tell God knows what with a great many gestures, but no one understood what he was trying to say, then why bother? Anyway, they had all witnessed the same scene, and there was little ambiguity about it. What on earth could he have said in his defence? They had therefore bound his wrists and, back on his horse, he now obediently left the soldiers take him back to the pueblo, under heavy guard, head bowed low.

Jaime Mendoza had rarely felt so lost. Disappointed, too. Hmm yes, the facts, yet so simple and obvious to the soldier, led to a complicated situation for the human being, for the friend he also was. Because yes, despite the obvious difference in social rank, wealth and education, despite the abyssal gap between them, Mendoza like to think of Don Diego de la Vega more or less as a friend. And what would greatly complicate things was that, not only the young Felipe had long been Don Diego’s protégé, but what’s more, he now was about to become his son. Diego de la Vega had undertaken official steps and administrative procedures to formally and legally adopt him.

This ugly affair was going to devastate poor Don Diego, who really didn’t need that just after recently discovering he had had a hidden twin brother who turned out badly, a twin brother he had lost and buried even before he had time to try to help him redeem...

And now _this?_ It was going to break Don Diego’s heart…

But this whole adoption business could also bring Mendoza other problems, if Don Diego persevered in his project despite the facts: indeed, it was no longer a mere servant or a simple peon the sergeant had just arrest and was going to put in jail, but a future caballero, the heir to the richest family in Los Angeles, the most influential too, and the most respected even beyond the boundaries of the pueblo. The de la Vegas had connections throughout California, and perhaps even in Spain!

It certainly did not stop the last two alcaldes to put a de la Vega in jail for a night or two before, but – at least since Zorro had been keeping a close eye to their actions – for nothing as serious as what was currently concerning Mendoza; and certainly nothing that risked to mean more than a day or two of relative discomfort before being released.

But _this_ was quite another matter, and arresting a caballero – a soon-to-be de la Vega! - for aggravating assault on an isolated an unarmed woman had nothing to do with simply putting Don Diego a few hours in a cell for writing an article that displeased the alcalde. This time, if Don Alejandro used his connections it could mean the end of the sergeant’s career, because it was much easier to have a mere sergeant’s head on a platter than an alcalde’s – an alcalde appointed to his post by the king himself! It was not certain that Don Alejandro would come to that because after all he was an honest man, but on the other hand he was also a proud caballero who felt his duty was to defend the name of de la Vegas... So Mendoza didn’t know exactly what to think of that. Most likely that the old man would probably try to persuade his son to give up on this adoption...

Felipe... of this either, the sergeant didn’t know what to think... After all, he did not know the young man that well, and certainly much less than he had thought until then; however, he would never have thought... He’d never have expected that of him! He still couldn’t believe it, incidentally. Yet he had seen it with his own eyes! The knife, the injured woman, her screams, her pleas, her skirts... it was as clear as daylight, and yet so unbelievable!

Complicated stuff. A very simple case altogether, yet a very complicated situation. One thing was howbeit certain: he had to refer this matter to the alcalde as soon as possible. And after all, he thought without really admitting his cowardice, decisions in Los Angeles fell to de Soto. Mendoza had no choice but to let the alcalde take over this ugly matter... He was only a soldier, a mere sergeant. He had to obey orders and comply with the law, even when he disliked, hadn’t he?

Finally back to the pueblo, Mendoza ordered Sepulveda to take the still unconscious victim to the doctor, while the rest of the soldiers went back to the garrison house. The fact that the woman had still not regained consciousness during the ride was no good sign about her condition. Had the boy hit that hard?

Even before telling Soto, the sergeant had yet to put the young man in a cell. Two soldiers brought him down from his horse not too gently and, as he still had his hands tied in front of him, Felipe fell heavily on the ground. Once back on his feet he tried a few arm gestures again to try and tell something, but as the rope was hampering his movements he gave up and finally let them lock him up.

Mendoza couldn’t dispel the feeling of unease and awkwardness that seized him since he identified the young deaf-mute as the poor woman’s attacker. Besides, images of the scene he discovered behind the rocks came back to his mind eye, and disgust resurfaced.

“Give me your hands,” he told his prisoner in a tone that he wished as neutral as possible.

Felipe was looking down and therefore could not know that the sergeant had spoken to him. Seeing this, Mendoza moved his arm forward through the bars and put his hand under the young man’s chin to make him slowly raise his head.

“Your hands!” the sergeant repeated, making a gesture with his own to make him understand.

Felipe then lifted his tied wrists forward through the bars and Mendoza, armed with the knife found near the victim, cut the rope that had kept the youngster’s hands bound until then.

As soon as his hands were free Felipe embarked on a series of panicked large gestures that were as fast as useless, because Mendoza quickly told him:

“Don’t bother, I don’t understand! Don’t waste your time and brea–” Mendoza stopped himself, wincing while realising what he had been about to say. “Whatever. Felipe, stop! I don’t understand a thing!”

The boy lowered his arms with a despondent look on his face, his shoulders slightly slumped. Suddenly he straightened up, grabbed the sergeant’s arm through the bars and, an imploring look in the eyes, he mimicked the act of writing something with his right hand on the palm of his left hand.

“Writing?”

Looking around him, Mendoza found an old edition of the _Guardian_ lying on a small desk and handed it to his prisoner, along with a lead pencil found in a drawer.

Felipe tore a piece of paper in the margin of the journal, hastily scribbled something on it and handed it back to the sergeant.

After taking a quick peek at it Mendoza asked:

“Are you sure you’re in such a hurry to have him know what you’ve done?”

But Felipe insisted, pointing to the piece of paper in a resolute manner.

“As you wish...” Mendoza said in a resigned tone of voice before dropping the strip of paper on the desk and getting out.

Clenching his fingers around the bars of his cell tight enough to make his knuckles whiten without even realizing it, Felipe remained a long time staring at the piece of yellowed paper that bore all his hopes. On it, a single word:

_Diego_


	3. Ch 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There is a singular line running through History, always renewing itself, that of fanatics for the general Order. Devoted to an abstract and absolute idol, to them human lives are of little worth if their mere existence threatens the dogma of Institutions; and it’s as if they have forgotten that the community they are serving is made of human beings”  
> (Maurice Druon – “The Accursed Kings”, Vol. 1: “The Iron King”, part II, chapter 9)

Ignacio de Soto was puzzled. Annoyed, too.

And slightly miffed.

Don Diego's young deaf mute... He would never have thought... He would never have expected it of him.

That being said, he had never really paid much attention to the boy, de Soto admitted. A boy who had never gotten himself talked about... to whom no one ever paid any attention... Well, he had to admit that as the boy was deaf and didn’t speak, his presence could be easily forgotten and there was no real reason to pay any attention to him.

It was perhaps where lay the key to this puzzle: a young man to whom no one had ever paid the slightest attention –- except Don Diego -– suddenly became the heir of the most important, renowned and prominent family around. That was enough to go to his head. And give him a sudden sense of impunity.

Back there in Spain when he was young, de Soto had seen many of them, these young triflers who belonged to the gilded youth of Madrid, these rich kids and spoiled brats whose surname, ancestral lineage or family’s wealth was in their eyes a blank cheque for all kinds of abuse and misconduct, ranging from simply lack of civility for most of them to violation of law for some others. And sometimes even crime.

But in their case, this sense had been instilled in them from the cradle, they had suckled it from their nurse’s breast and it had been nurtured throughout childhood, so much that they thought it only natural that they were owed everything, be it positions, honors, respect... or the first servant, peasant girl or tavern wench who happened to come by.

But for this young man, things had been very different. So what was that? Was this the expression of a long repressed behavior of many years? Had he spent ten years managing to conceal his true nature among this small community that was the pueblo de Los Àngeles? Come on, such a mock harmlessness, such a charade was impossible to keep going for so long. Especially from a child. No one was _that_ able to keep up years and years of pretense without giving themselves away. And certainly NOT before Ignacio de Soto’s own eyes, for God’s sake!

Well, granted, at this very thought a highly unpleasant word made his way to his mind, an unpleasant name beginning with a Z that was impudently buzzing in his ear, but de Soto tried his best to ignore it. Apart from this continual thorn in his side, no other secret could remain hidden for long in such a small community, and especially not by a mere teenager, a kid. A kid who had only his body to express himself –- supposing that these pitiful gestures and gesticulations could be called “expressing oneself”. The alcalde was convinced that, more often than not, Don Diego was only pretending to understand him –- either to make himself look important or not to upset the boy, or even not to frankly admit he didn’t understand anything more than the others –- and that he invented at least three-quarters of what the kid was supposed to have “told” him.

But now said _kid_ wasn’t one anymore, as shown by the morning’s very serious incident, and he was also no longer the mere invisible and anonymous servant he had been so far either. But what had gotten into him? Did his future status as “Don”Felipe suddenly go to his head? Probably. After all, for someone coming from such a low background, the idea of becoming a de la Vega, to one day inherit of the most profitable land around there as well as a considerable wealth, bearing one of the most prestigious and respected names of California could transform a dull and simple young man into a despicable spoiled brat and cocky rooster.

After all, what had the boy done to deserve so much godsends and blessings? What more had he done than all those insufferable coxcombsin Madrid who only ever had the trouble to be born? Not much, in truth. Just becoming Diego de la Vega’s pet, his favourite, his protégé; Don Diego… another spoilt rich idler who didn’t know what to do with his time and had never had to do anything in his life to deserve the high position he had in society.

Ignacio de Soto was sickened by this system. Someone should one day put things right, so that the son of simple peasants like himself could access the exact same opportunities as children of caballeros such as Diego, without having to resort to cheating for that. So that only merit, brains and hard work determine the destiny of a man, and the honors he received.

De Soto knew that this wouldn’t happen any time in the near future, but he also knew that blindly yielding to the good old system would not help succeed in changing things. So if he had to incur a few frowns from some bigwig in Monterey by making an example of young Felipe de la Vega, then so be it. He would just have to skillfully manoeuvre with the governor, why not by inventing some unlikely collusion between the young man and the outlaw Zorro…

Though on second thought, no. It was better if Zorro didn’t come and put his two centavos in this matter, he would be able to do ruin everything and the kid might get away with what he did. And it was precisely this sense of impunity that made Ignacio sick with indignation. Especially after what the boy had done or tried to do.

De Soto was a pragmatist. No pain, no gain, and he had known since very early in his life thatyou can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. He had learned this the hard way and often at his own expense. But despite years and years of compromise with his conscience, that he had almost managed to silence in order to rise to the rank he was currently occupying, there were still two or three things towards which he felt a boundless revulsion. Or was he beginning to soften as the years passed? After all, he remembered he had felt the need to seek the padre's spiritual assistance after he shot Gilberto Risendo, killing him instantly, to save Diego de la Vega -– of all people! how ironic, come to think of it!

So yes, the facts Mendoza had reported to him concerning the morning’s incident were of the kind that deeply sickened him, and Heaven forbid it would be said that their perpetrator would get away unpunished, however son and grand-son of caballero as he might be, and even though he was about to become a de la Vega. It would not be said that Ignacio de Soto softened with age. And if he had to make an example, then he would, damn it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course the quote above doesn’t completely stick to the character nor to this chapter, but I found it appropriate enough on some points to use it as a header here…


	4. Ch 4

Diego de la Vega stormed into the barracks where the garrison's cells were. Visibly alarmed, he rushed up to the one his soon-to-be son had been moping in for several hours, stopped in his tracks only by the bars that separated them.

"Felipe! Felipe, how are you? You're not hurt, are you? Are you treated well?"

Sergeant Mendoza, who had entered after Diego, spoke up to defend his men:

"Of course he's treated well, Don Diego! Who do you think we are?"

But neither Diego nor Felipe paid him any attention. Diego had slipped both hands through the bars and wrapped the young man's ones in his large palms, not uttering a word, emotion painted all over his face.

Likewise, the young prisoner's eyes had lit up with a new hope as well as a boundless trust and confidence when Don Diego entered. Trust and hope that the sergeant had trouble understanding: admittedly, Don Diego was a good man, a friend he truly liked and esteemed, but well, let's face it: if Mendoza had serious trouble and found himself in danger, Don Diego was certainly not the first person he would think to call to for help to get out of a thorny situation... and certainly not the one with whom all his hopes would lie!

Diego then spoke again:

"Please forgive me for not coming sooner, Felipe, but I wasn't home when the sergeant stopped by. I had gone out."

Felipe nodded; he grasped perfectly well what this simple _'I had gone out'_ meant and, just as Diego had long since learned to understand Felipe's signed language, the latter had also learned to read between Diego's lines – or rather words – and to take his hints when he couldn't speak clearly in the presence of a third party. The two men sometimes understood each other without even having to talk now. They knew how each other's mind worked.

Then everything suddenly changed again. Don Diego released Felipe's hands and let out a flurry of questions:

"What happened, Felipe? Tell me! Tell me what really happened!"

"I told you what happened,Don Diego…" Mendoza intervened.

"If you don't mind, Sergeant," Don Diego interrupted rather dryly, "I'm asking _Felipe_. It's _his_ version I want to hear."

" _Hear_ , Don Diego?"

But obviously enough, Diego didn't feel like nitpicking right now and he threw an almost dirty look at the poor sergeant. He never liked when people emphasised the young man's disability in such a way and in his presence, and Mendoza also realised it was not the best time to embark on lexical quibbles. Don Diego was in no mood for a friendly conversation with him.

After his unusual fit of temper, Diego set all his attention back on Felipe.

"Tell me," he repeated. "What happened?"

Felipe began a series of gestures. First he mimed horse riding.

"Where?" Diego asked.

Felipe made another gesture.

"On the Camino Real?... North?"

The young man nodded. Mendoza thought it more prudent not to point out aloud that he had already told so to Don Diego; he kept his thoughts to himself.

As for Diego, he was beginning to put together the pieces of puzzle he had gathered from Mendoza with those Felipe was now giving him:

"A horse rider?"

Felipe nodded again but added something: with a wave of his hands he mimed long hair and with another more suggestive gesture he drew a resolutely curvy shape.

"The rider was a woman?... The horse… reared up?... And they fell to the ground?

Felipe then raised his right hand to his left shoulder and pretended to twist it.

"She fell on her shoulder? Did it break?"

Felipe shook his head.

"Sprained, then? No? Dislocated, out of joint?"

A nod from Felipe.

Diego winced, sympathising with the poor woman. Dislocation was never a pleasant matter, and often a very painful one. Felipe went on: he put a hand on Diego's shoulder and the other on his elbow, and then pretended to make a sharp move. Diego winced again; Felipe nodded and then raised his hands a bit, arms spread in a gesture of helplessness. Diego simply told him:

"I know, but you did the right thing."

Felipe indicated that right after this the victim fainted. Seeming to question Diego, he motioned to the outside, and made the sign for 'woman'.

"I don't know, Felipe," Diego said before turning to Mendoza. "How is she, Sergeant? Has she finally regained consciousness?"

"I don't know, Don Diego. I went to see the alcalde, then I rode to your hacienda but you weren't there, and neither was Don Alejandro, so I left the message telling you to come to the garrison as soon as possible, then I rode back here and I had to write the report, then it was lunch time and then you arrived. I hadn't time to check on her, and I didn't see Corporal Sepulveda, but he should know about the señorita: he took her to the doctor."

Felipe seemed to suddenly remember something: putting his left wrist above the other, his right hand flat, and curving two fingers of the left one, he made a sign that Diego didn't seem to identify right away. Then with his right index finger he sharply jabbed his left forearm and finally ended his sentence by indicating his thigh.

"A sting?" Diego asked.

A nod from the young man.

"You've been bitten by a snake?" Don Diego then asked with a bit of panic.

Waving 'no' with his hands in front of him, Felipe shook his head and made again the curvy sign for 'woman'.

"The rider?"

Another nod.

"She's been bitten by a snake?"

 _'_ _No'_. Felipe then made the first sign again, insisting on his bent fingers.

"A scorpion?"

 _'_ _Here, you've got it!'_ , Felipe seemed to tell him. He then mimed the act of pulling a knife from his sash and cutting through the air in front of him. Diego then turned to Mendoza.

"Well, now you can see Sergeant, _this_ is the reason why Felipe's knife lay next to the woman, with her blood on its blade!"

But even though Mendoza wholeheartedly wished to believe this version, he couldn't manage to let it convince him.

"But Don Diego, you weren't there... We've all heard the señorita scream and beg him to leave her, and…and to let go of her, and… and not to... not to..."

He didn't want to end this sentence, but he hoped that Don Diego would grasp the idea he was trying to convey without it needing to be spelled. The sergeant went on:

"I can understand that you believe him, Don Diego, I really do but... but all we have is his word... well, so to speak... and well... we all were there, we heard and saw–"

"Basically, you're telling me that it's Felipe's word against yours, Mendoza, aren't you?"

"You weren't there, Don Diego…" Mendoza objected half-heartedly. The sergeant wasn't feeling really comfortable with himself. He would have greatly preferred to be anywhere but there.

As if driven by an unusual energy, Diego suddenly set off and went to the door in a firm step, stating:

"Well, someone else was there too, wasn't she? And her version will help you make up your mind, since Felipe's word means nothing to you anymore!"

Making another abrupt half-turn, Don Diego strode back to the cell and, slipping his arms through the bars, right up against the railings, he hugged the young man tight and soothingly murmured:

"Don't worry Felipe, I'll get you out of it. Don't worry, I'm taking care of it..."

Mendoza thought that circumstances had a strange effect on Don Diego, to the point of making him forget that the boy was deaf and that it was therefore no use to talk to him if your lips were not in his field of vision!

Then just as suddenly, Don Diego stormed out of the room in three quick strides and, through the window, the sergeant saw him cross the plaza at a brisk pace.

Truly, this very day Jaime Mendoza was going from one surprise to another. And this time it was Diego de la Vega who was disconcerting: the sergeant had expected to see him devastated, anxious, perhaps even distraught and lost, while hearing the disturbing news. Despondent, anyway. Instead of which, Diego had dashed to the jails, full of spirit, ardour and energy, demanding to be led to Felipe right away. Mendoza had expected to be facing a broken-down, devastated man in the doldrums, instead of what he found himself facing a lion ready to fight tooth and nail for his cub.


	5. Ch 5

“And she has still not regained consciousness in all this time?” Don Diego wondered.

“ _Consciousness_ , yes she has,” the doctor replied. “Episodically. _Lucidity_... that's a different matter altogether”.

“I beg your pardon?” Diego asked.

“She wakes up, mumbles some unintelligible words or simply moans, sometimes opens her eyes without really looking around her, then she falls back into unconsciousness. It comes and goes, but she developed a fever and when she wakes up for a few minutes she’s delirious, she has still not remained lucid long enough for me to ask her about her condition. But there’s a nasty bruise just above her temple that doesn’t look good to me: she received a blow to the head.”

Still there in a corner of the room, Corporal Sepulveda was watching the exchange between them, not taking part in it. For lack of clear orders from the sergeant on what he was to do once he had brought the victim to the doctor, he had remained at her side hoping to be able to ask her about her identity and receive her testimony. But now he was only worried she would never awaken for good and was fretting a bit over her. He felt somewhat responsible for her and for what would become of her: after all, the sergeant had somehow entrusted him with her...

Of course the doctor had no bed in his humble office, therefore the woman had been laid on a simple wooden banquette carpeted with a thick Indian blanket. She had been lying there for a few hours now and even this discomfort had not awakened her. Right now she seemed to be deeply asleep, her face reddened and glistening, beads of sweat beginning to form on her forehead.

Meanwhile, Don Diego continued to talk with the doctor:

“She has a scorpion sting somewhere, probably on her thigh,” Diego pointed out. “This could explain the fever and delirium. She also dislocated her shoulder this morning, but the head of her humerus has been immediately put back in its socket.”

“Where did you hear... Whatever,” decided Dr. Hernandez. “First and foremost she has a long gash in her right thigh, a clean cut made by a sword or a dagger, by some kind of sharp blade anyway.”

“It was done in order to remove the scorpion’s venom,” Diego provided.

“Scorpion or not, in any case there’s now the beginning of an infection around there; this could as well explain the fever. I had also noticed her shoulder, although I will have to take a closer look to see if it can actually be a reset dislocation. But I also found this.”

He then rolled the right sleeve of his patient up above the elbow to show them his discovery: four long red-turning-blue bruises were running across her arm. Dr. Hernandez then lifted her elbow a little and Diego could spot a fifth shorter yet similar hematoma on the inside of her arm.

A hand, he thought. A hand had gripped this arm to the point of bruising its flesh. In order to pin it.

“And this,” the doctor added.

Slowly, gently, respectfully, he hiked the woman’s skirt up to the top of her right leg, and above a swollen and reddened gash that stretched over two or three inches, similar bluish marks were spread over the white skin of her thigh.

A hand. A hand had forced and maintained this leg, this thigh. And this arm.

Felipe’s hands.

Suddenly overcome with the unpleasant indecency of the sight displayed before their eyes while the woman was still unconscious, Diego pulled her skirts back down, looking away. Or was it rather the indecency of these marks and of the gesture they suggested that made him feel suddenly so uncomfortable?

The doctor went on:

“I'm sorry Don Diego, but these marks are quite consistent with the account the Corporal here gave me of the events.”

Sepulveda wished the earth would swallow him up, and despite himself he resented Dr. Hernandez a tiny bit for attracting Don Diego’s attention on his presence.

“Yes Don Diego,” the poor soldier said faintly. “Err... I'm sorry but... but it's the truth...”

“They are also consistent with Felipe’s account,” Diego replied. “He told me he reset her shoulder, and he incised the leg near the sting to drain the venom out.”

  1. Hernandezlitan oil lamp, got it closer to his patient, lifted her skirts again and leanedover to take a closer look at her thigh.



“Hmm... hmm yes,” he said, making a sceptical face, “this, here, it could be a scorpion sting. Hard to say, because the cut runs through it, but it might look like it... possibly...”

“And the fever, doctor?” Diego insisted. “And the loss of consciousness, and delirium? All this could be the consequences of the effect of the venom!”

“As well as of the infection, which is established,” the doctor replied. “In addition, the loss of consciousness and delirium could also be the result of the blow to the head. I'm sorry Don Diego, he added with a sigh, but my role here is not to separate fact from fiction in an inquiry, nor to determine culpabilities. My role here is to identify what she suffers from and try to treat it. As for the rest... I remind you that I am a doctor, I took an oath and I don’t have the right to take sides.”

“Speaking of what she suffers from, Doctor,” Sepulveda suddenly intervened, “how is she? What can we do for her? Is it serious?”

Hernandez sighed and made a face between doubt and ignorance.

“On this matter... I cleaned the wound with salt water and alcohol, stopped the bleeding, did the same with scratches on her face, and gave her extract of willow bark and of meadowsweet in small quantities when she awoke, to fight her fever. I also made a poultice of it for her wound. There is nothing else that we can do here, she now needs calm and rest. And a little more comfort than what she has here. The best thing to do is to bring her home, Corporal.”

Hearing these last words, Sepulveda seemed lost.

“But doctor, that is...” he started, “the trouble is, I don’t know where she lives! I don’t even know her! I was actually hoping _you_ could tell me about her.”

“Ah Corporal, I'm afraid I can’t be of any help to you, I don’t know her either.”

Both turned to Diego.

“Neither do I,” he told them knitting his brow. “If none of us here knows her, then I’m afraid she’s a stranger to the pueblo. Besides, she was riding on the Camino Real, coming from the opposite direction, from north. She must be a traveler coming from elsewhere...

“But it is out of the question to leave her here on this bench!” the doctor exclaimed. “She needs real rest!”

“Yet we can’t take her to the barracks!” Sepulveda deplored.

“Anyway, I said _calm_ , Corporal, and a minimum of _comfort_!”

“I'll take her to our hacienda,” Diego suggested, “for the time she needs to recover.”

“The alcalde will not agree with that, Don Diego,” Corporal intervened.

“I fail to see why the alcalde would have a say in this matter,” Diego replied rather coldly.

“Well...” Sepulveda mumbled watching the tips of his boots, “since it’s Felipe who...”

“Felipe did nothing wrong!” Diego cut him briskly.

“...who... who was on the scene,” the corporal diplomatically went on, “the alcalde will not want the lady’s testimony and memories to be... influenced. If she ever wakes up one day,” he added in a low voice.

“Anyway the ride back here on horseback has already tried her body a great deal,” the doctor intervened. “I’d rather she doesn’t make such a long journey, even in a cart: the bumps on the road, the jolts...”

“And the mission?” Sepulveda cut in. “The padre could perhaps…”

“The mission is neither a hotel nor a hospital, Corporal!” the doctor exclaimed. “And the padre has already much to do with the Chumash and the children in the orphanage, he already hasn’t enough room for everyone!”

“A hotel!” Diego suddenly cried out. “Of course! And rest assured doctor, the journey won’t be long at all!”

And not waiting for other two’s reaction, he gently put one arm under the stranger’s back, the other one under her knees, and lifted her like one carries a sleeping child. Taking great care to prop the señorita’s head against his shoulder, he strode out of the doctor’s office.


	6. Ch 6

“Victoria, your best room, quick!”

Her back to her tavern’s door, Victoria Escalante was wiping some glasses behind the counter and almost startled hearing this as, for a tenth of a second, she believed she recognised Zorro’s very firm and assured voice. But no, she thought immediately, firstly why would Zorro enter the tavern in broad daylight through the front door instead of discreetly using the service door giving onto the scullery, as he usually did? And above all, why would he ask for _a room_?

No, and what’s more, Corporal Sepulveda’s words soon dispelled her doubts before she even needed to turn around:

“But Don Diego,” the corporal said, “are you quite sure about…?”

Victoria never knew what Diego was supposed to be sure about because Sepulveda left his question unfinished, his voice hesitant and seemingly not willing to phrase the end of his sentence.

 _Diego_ , uh? Hmmmyeah, on second thought it might as well be his voice, although more assertive and imperious than usual. And since when didn’t he say a mere ‘hello’ or ‘good afternoon’ anymore, and did he forget to add a simple ‘please’? Bah, she simply told herself, he must have gotten out of bed on the wrong side, or have had a bad day, that's all. After all, it sometimes happened to herself too. Smiling archly while inspecting the glass she had been wiping, Victoria wondered somewhat mischievously what on earth could be a bad day in Diego de la Vega’s life. Had he gotten a splinter in his finger? Broken a nail? Had one of his damned experiments not worked out as expected?

But anyway, she would certainly not let him get away with it and, turning to face the newcomers, she decided to kindly and jokingly point out his momentary lack of manners:

“ _Buenos días_ to you too, Don Die–”

But the last syllable of his name remained stuck in her throat when, still open-mouthed but with no sound coming out of it, Victoria discovered the sight now displayed before her eyes: Diego de la Vega carrying a _woman_ in his arms! Holding her gently against him, cradled against his chest, her head nestled in the crook of his neck!

That was most unusual, to say the least. And even, _this_ was the last thing she would have expected to ever see with her own eyes! Victoria felt her jaw drop in astonishment.

Was _she_ the mysterious woman he once told her about, the one he has secretly been in love with for many years? If so, he apparently finally confessed his secret to her, and avowed his feelings as well as the torch he’s been carrying for so long, obviously...

Oh hey, hey, wait a minute, here! Did he just ask for – _demand_ – a _room_? A _bed_ room? For himself and a _woman_?

And then suddenly the incongruity of this situation, combined with the peculiar way Diego was holding this woman – _carrying_ her, in fact – finally struck Victoria, and she realised she was not witnessing the kind of scene she had first thought this display of cosy familiarity was, but that it was something more alarming. Obviously the woman was unconscious and Diego, not waiting for Victoria’s reply, had already started climbing the stairs leading to the second floor where the inn’s bedrooms were located.

Something was wrong. With this woman. Whoever she was, if Diego de la Vega carried her openly in his arms in as public a place as the pueblo’s plaza in broad daylight, and urgently came to the tavern to rent a room for her, this woman was unwell. As Diego was climbing the last step and reached the landing, Victoria finally came out of her momentary stupor and extricated herself from behind her counter to follow in his footsteps.

**z z z z z z z z z z z**

The stranger was drench with sweat and burning with fever, he could feel it through her clothes, his large hand against the sleeve of her blouse. She shivered from time to time, slightly shaking with tremors for one second or two.

Victoria had caught up with Diego and took out her keys to open the door of the quietest and most comfortable room in her establishment. To Victoria’s flurry of questions he could only answer with short sentences while he laid the young woman on the bed: yes she was ill, yes she was wounded, no idea of her name nor of who she was, but it was essential that she recovers. For Felipe.

With these few answers Victoria was hardly further along than before and Diego’s last sentence finished to completely puzzle her. If he had talked to her in riddles she wouldn’t have understood much less of it all. Meanwhile, the Corporal had caught up with them and entered the bedroom too.

Diego, as for him, was inspecting the stranger, looking for clues as to her identity: there was certainly someone somewhere to notify! And if she was indeed a traveler far away from home, why had she chosen to ride alone on the Camino Real?

Her clothes were simple and practical, suitable for a long horse ride; they didn’t seem brand new, yet they were not worn out nor patched either, and were neither too large nor too small, appearing to have actually been tailored for her. She therefore was either middle class, or upper class with a practical enough mind to dress sensibly and without ostentation in order to travel comfortably.

Diego examined her hands: these were not a _peón_ ’s or _campesina_ ’s hands with marked skin, hardened by farm work, nor a servant’s hands used to hard housework or laundry. These hands were almost soft, but even so a little bit marked by the handling of horse bridles and some minor daily chores. Rather middle class, then. _A priori._

Her nails were rather long and well kept, with the exception of the middle and ring finger ones on the right hand, perhaps broken in her fall. During his examination, Diego marked a short pause, surprised as he recognised something he knew very well: there, on the last phalanx of her right middle finger, opposite the index, her finger was somewhat deformed by a small bump, a callus he found on none other of her fingers, and he immediately identified its origin: this was what happened after many years spent holding a pen, writing several hours a day. So, middle class or upper class?

Her left hand was similar to her right one, except for the absence of the writer’s bump, and above all, _above all_ , it brought a significant piece of information about the stranger: there was no ring on her fourth finger. The sergeant had then probably been correct in calling her a ‘señorita’.

Incidentally, she wasn’t wearing any jewelry – wise precaution when setting out on a long journey alone – except for a golden chain around her neck with a finely engraved golden cross - beautiful craftsmanship of a skilled goldsmith, Diego assessed admiring it – and a holy medal, made of gold too.

A baptism medal, probably. _Ah!_ Diego thought _, with a bit of luck we will finally be able to find out about her first name, at least._ He gently turned the medal over. On its reverse side were inscribed in Latin a date – December 13th, 1763 – and a name: ‘Adrianus’.

Well, so much for finding out about her name, because according to the señorita’s apparent age, it was absolutely impossible that this baptism medal was hers. Moreover, ‘Adrianus’ was a masculine form. So who was this Adrián? Her father? Probably. And probably dead too, if she now had his medal...

Anyway, there was still no clue as to her identity, either first or last name. Nor as to the place where she came from. _North_... that was quite a vague clue! Maybe her clothes were labeled?

“Victoria, please,” he asked, “can you give a look at her clothes while the corporal and myself turn our backs? Perhaps they will tell us of her name?”

And matching words with deeds he turned his back to the bed and looked out through the window, which gave onto the back of the tavern. A facade he knew well for having climbed it more than once, and had the huge advantage of not giving onto the plaza: an advantage for him because it guaranteed him greater discretion, and now an advantage for the stranger too, because it promised her the calm and quietness Dr. Hernandez heavily insisted on to give her a chance to recover.

The corporal joined him, allowing Victoria to somewhat undress the stranger with all due propriety.

“Anyway she needs other clothes,” Sepulveda said, “she can’t keep those on forever: they are dusty, stained with blood and drench with sweat.”

“I can lend her a nightgown,” Victoria offered. “Even if it’s not exactly the right size for her, that will do. I’ll ask another woman to help me get her changed.”

Hearing these words, Diego suddenly remembered something and turned around:

“Victoria, I forgot to tell you: be careful with her shoulder, she got it dislocated a few hours ago!”

He then approached the bed, untying the silk sash he was wearing as a belt. Seeing that, Victoria hastily pulled the stranger’s skirts back down on her legs; but Diego seemed not to care about decorum anymore and folded the patient’s right arm over her stomach, after what, raising slightly her upper body with one of his arms, he slipped his sash under her back and then tied its fringed ends over her forearm, fastening the sash so as to pin her arm in this position.

“No name on her clothes,” Victoria concluded after her close examination, “but I found this.”

And she then handed him a very lovely cambric handkerchief, finely embroidered and hemstitched at the edged, a woman's handkerchief, adorned at its corner with a blue monogram made of two letters: _L.A._


	7. Ch 7

Yes, it was essential that this _L.A._ , whoever she was, awoke. And testified. Diego didn't doubt that her version would corroborate Felipe's. But the question was when. Yes, _when_ ; and not _if_. This second wording... well, he didn't even want to think about it. Yet the doctor had not seemed overly optimistic about the patient's condition, but Diego refused the possibility that she lost her life in whatever happened. She _had_ to testify, it couldn't be otherwise. Or else...

Diego shook his head to dispel this unpleasant thought, not unlike a drenched dog shakes himself dry. In the meanwhile, Felipe remained in jail. And a suspect. Who else but Diego himself would believe in his innocence? His father, surely; after all, he knew Felipe as well as himself did, he had partly brought him up too, during all those years himself was away in Spain. It was under Don Alejandro's care and guardianship that Felipe had finished childhood and then entered teenage, Diego remembered. His father would trust the boy's integrity, and his innocence.

Another thought came to his mind: he was convinced that the fact that Felipe did not speak, at least not through words and orally, would work against him. Come on, he knew too well that, to the majority, even to the best-meaning people of the pueblo, even to those with a good heart and who granted him their affection, Felipe was considered as... well as a bit… 'simple' so to speak, merely owing to his handicap. While the boy, as for him, understood absolutely everything and even far beyond what most people were able to grasp themselves; Diego was well placed to know that: he, who was so close to him in everyday life that he didn't just rub shoulders with him, had taken on – and was still carrying on – his education under his tutelage in advanced areas such as the latest scientific concepts or discoveries, and who "conversed" with him about everything and nothing was well aware that both Felipe's intelligence and knowledge were above average; especially in this remote pueblo of the new world where the thirst for culture and advanced academic education was not the daily concern of people who, first and foremost and above all else, had to run their business, whether it is an arid and barren land to cultivate with their hands in order to get from it the bare minimum for a living, a business to run or a large estate like his father's to manage.

Europe and its Enlightenment were very far away, the Spanish Motherland almost an abstract concept, and culture as well as academic knowledge did not even appear as a luxury there, but rather as an idleness, a lazy leisure, a vain coquetry which hardly befitted either _peónes_ , merchants, soldiers or even wealthy landowners or well-born _caballeros_. A ridiculous preciosity, somehow... in other words, something to make any man appear a bit… wussy.

These interests and skills that in Madrid, in Barcelona, in Seville, in Paris, in Berlin and in London were the heyday of salons and of all that mattered in the most respected social circles, were looked down upon in this Californian pueblo, as a bizarre fancy at best – by Don Alejandro or Victoria for instance – but more generally were simply taken for perfectly ridiculous by the majority. Scientists, philosophers, upcoming glorious celebrities, and all those who through hard research and audacious theories were preparing both the world's future and the progress to come – from which, Diego was convinced, everyone would benefit without even knowing it – all these brilliant minds were here disregarded at best as insignificant, at worst as pathetic sissies, just on the grounds that they didn't spend their time settling their disagreements with their fists or sword in hand, on the simple pretext that when facing criticism or contestation they preferred honing their arguments over sharpening their blades...

But then an idea came to Diego's mind: if people here disregarded Felipe's sign language as insignificant simply because they hadn't learned it or didn't conceive that it could be fluently used, if they didn't consider it a language in its own right, just as valid as any other, or even if they suspected Diego to "adapt" the translation to his needs or as he wished, then Felipe just had to express himself in the good and simple Spanish everyone knew, understood and used, that was all. He would tell his version of the incident in a language Mendoza, Sepulveda and the alcalde could understand, and perhaps it would even the odds. A little bit, anyway...

"Victoria," he then said quickly, "can I borrow a quill and an inkwell? And would you also have a few sheets of paper to–"

"Really, Don Diego," the corporal interrupted, "with all due respect, do you think now is the right time for one of your articles? That won't bail Fe–"

But Diego swept his objection with an impatient wave of his hand before Sepulveda had even finished stating it and the corporal fell silent.

"Victoria..." Don Diego repeated in a tone that transpired an urgency she didn't understand, "please..."

He didn't seem to want to loose any time in explanations and it was such an unusual behaviour and tone from him that for once Victoria didn't even think about asking for one nor balking, and for once she complied without jibbing at it, quite taken aback by her friend's conduct. Unusual situations are curious in that they sometimes have the power to make us act very unusually ourselves...

"Under the counter, behind the bar... you'll find what you are looking for..." Victoria managed to splutter without leaving the bedside of the still unconscious stranger whom she was staring at with some interest, wondering if _she_ was the key to Don Diego's strange behaviour.

If that was the case and if he really did not know her, then she must have however made quite a strong impression on him, even in her current state, a puzzled Victoria reflected. _Strange_ ; all this was very strange. Obviously, Diego did not want to talk. At least not now. And obviously Corporal Sepulveda knew something she didn't… yet. It would therefore be wiser to try to turn to this source in order to learn a little bit more about this situation and Don Diego's odd reactions. So she let him get out of the room on his own and help himself under the counter so that she could find herself alone with the good corporal, whom she shouldn't have too much difficulties to make talk...

z ~ z ~ z ~ Z ~ z ~ z ~ z

Inkwell, quill pen and sheets of paper in hand, Diego strode again across the plaza this time towards the jail. He looked so determined that Mendoza didn't even think about denying him his request – well, his _demand_ , almost! – to see Felipe again. Besides, the alcalde's orders couldn't have been any vaguer: he didn't clearly forbid visits to the prisoner, he just said he intended that the latter would be "kept under permanent heavy guard" and that no one would "interfere in this case, nor influence the testimony of either of the parties, not even, and particularly _definitely not_ the de la Vegas".

But to Mendoza, 'visiting' wasn't necessarily 'interfering', and as long as a third party 'chaperoned' them to make sure that nothing in the interview would influence the young man nor dictate him what he should 'tell', then he didn't have the heart to deny it to Don Diego, poor man... Besides, determined as the latter seemed to be, the sergeant wouldn't like – for once – to find himself in Diego de la Vega's way, Mendoza thought hiding a slight grimace of apprehension at this idea...

"Felipe!" the father-to-be exclaimed with in his voice both the relief of a castaway who spots a ship and the worry of the same castaway who knows that the providential boat can go on its way without seeing him.

And again he was close to the cell in three quick strides, and again he clasped the young man's hands in his own through the bars, after laying hastily what he had been holding on the little worm-eaten table pushed against the wall, which was the only furniture outside the cells. Not that the cells themselves were well furnished, far from it: they were equipped all in all with a bench attached to the wall by chains, which served both as a seat and a berth for the prisoners, regardless of the number of people per cell. Felipe was alone in his, so he had been able to lie down to try and find some rest, and think about the situation; but precisely the concern caused by this very situation had hitherto prevented him from getting any repose.

He squeezed Diego's hands with all the despair this situation inspired him, and also with all the faith he placed in him, whom he was sure his salvation would come from. Although as of yet he hardly saw how...

"Felipe," repeated Diego, "here's something to write with."

He gave him successively the ink, the paper and then Victoria's quill through the bars.

"You're going to write here everything that happened this morning, until the patrol arrived. Absolutely everything, without omitting anything. Don't forget any detail, even if they seem insignificant; you never know, they might be of importance later. For now you are the only one who can testify of what happened then, since the soldiers were not there and the señorita hasn't awaken yet."

He had been careful to say "hasn't awaken yet", and not "hasn't regained consciousness", in order to preserve Felipe's hopes – and his own – and not to aggravate their shared concern about how things might turn out: the situation was already unpleasant enough as it was without having to think firstly that the young woman couldn't clear Felipe's name, and secondly that he could even end up facing a murder charge.

"Write down absolutely everything well, don't forget anything," Diego repeated. "It will be your deposition, as no one has bothered to ask you for it yet. Your account of the facts is essential to disculpate you. This will be your testimony, if need be. And when the señorita wakes up and confirm what you said, then the concordance between the two versions will make truth come to light and can only hasten your release; and then we can all forget this whole thing, all right?"

Felipe nodded, but probably less out of real conviction that everything would go that much all right than in order to reassure both himself and Diego who, although the he was trying to hide it, needed that as much as the young prisoner himself – come on! Felipe knew him well, and with time he had learned to read him and to decipher part of what he didn't tell him. That was what happened quite often by dint of sharing of secrets; and Felipe also had over the other people the advantage of expressing himself as much through looks, expressions and attitudes as through deliberate hand gestures, which made him able to notice theses same looks, expressions and attitudes in others, even when they were unintentional; and even when people tried to hide those behind some facade, he could sometimes manage to 'read' something. All the more so in someone he had known, lived and worked closely with for as long as he had with Diego; and the latter, despite all his talent and his experience in pretence, act and appearances – all things that he had been practicing and honing for so long now – couldn't always fool his closest confidant, almost his other self...

And perhaps even less easily than he succeeded in fooling himself.


	8. Ch 8

**Chapter 8**

_That can’t be._

Here was the first thing that came to Victoria Escalante’s mind when she heard Corporal Sepulveda’s account.

Felipe? _Felipe?!?_   Gentle, nice, always calm and very reliable Felipe?

 _Felipe_ , whom Don Diego was about to make his son?

It seemed just unbelievable.

 _Felipe_ , whom she had never seen have any improper gesture or conduct toward any young woman, whoever she was?

Yet Lord knows that in her tavern, she had seen many of these young boys, from all kinds of social background for that matter – stupidity being one of the few things that are pretty egalitarian, and perfectly evenly distributed in this world – who, on the grounds that three bristles were starting to grow on their chin, felt obliged to whistle at the girls passing by, to pinch the buttocks of honest female-workers whose job was to serve refreshments and meals, to fight with each other for a mere trifle, or also to heavily insist and press young ladies who had clearly showed their total lack of interest in their own little manly selves.

But she never had to complain about Felipe's behaviour towards anyone in her tavern, nor outside for that matter, nor did she ever have a reproach to issue to him or to report to Don Diego or Don Alejandro.

Felipe belonged to this silent majority – no pun intended here, she told herself – who had gone through that awkward age without causing too much trouble around him, without getting himself talked about. And she was quite sure that the credit went half to Felipe himself and to his responsible personality, and the other half to Don Diego and Don Alejandro who had supported and also sometimes guided him on this occasionally bumpy road that crosses the bridge from childhood to adulthood.

Oh, in the course of service, she had sometimes caught some gazes and stares from the boy towards such and such girl his age (or a little bit older, on occasion), sometimes intent, sometimes admiring, and often curious… but after all, what would be life and openness to the adult world without this strange and constant mystery that was, to both boys and girls, the other half of Humankind? Intriguing mystery indeed, which complexity one is beginning to perceive at this age when childhood has already been left behind but adulthood hadn’t been fully entered yet...

Aaaah, boys... _what a vast topic to herself too, at this very same age!_ she then remembered with a small smile, half-amused and half-nostalgic. She still remembered that, despite the limited leisure time she had to spend in reflecting about them, they had intrigued her for quite some time by then – and still did for that matter. Even now she sometimes didn’t understand men and their logic... or rather, their _lack_ thereof.

Yes, apparently she still knew only very little more about it even now, as she would never have supposed that Felipe...

No, that couldn’t be.

However, Corporal Sepulveda was so positive, yet so surprised himself! He too could swear that never before that day he would have bet one centavo on such behaviour, such a misdemeanour from this young man. But he said he heard the woman scream, and saw Felipe assault her, lying over her and pinning her forcibly while she was helpless and isolated, her state of undress not leaving any doubt as to the boy’s doings and intentions...

It was disturbing, to say the least. And precisely, the corporal did seem disturbed.

And sickened, too. It was obvious, it showed enough through his words, his voice, and the look on his face.

Then now, did Victoria too begin to feel troubled? She wanted to refuse it, but still... And besides, willpower alone couldn’t control feelings or thoughts, and wanting wholeheartedly to believe in something wasn’t always enough to completely believe in it. And similarly, in this instance it was not because she wanted with all her might _not_ to believe something that she managed to entirely blot it out and to dispel the insidious thought away from her mind. Especially with a credible witness’s account to back it up, and whose sincerity nor motives wasn’t to be doubted or questioned for any logical reason. And Corporal Sepulveda really had no reason Victoria could think about to lie about this sordid matter; she even thought he was among those who liked Felipe, or at least who had a rather favourable view of him. Until this very morning, anyway...

Victoria turned in her bed. It was still completely dark outside but, disturbed by these thoughts that were turning over and over in her mind, she was unable to get back to sleep. Something, she didn’t know what, had awakened her in the middle of the night and she knew she _had_ to go back to sleep soon, otherwise she would have the hardest time getting up in a couple of hours, and would spend a very arduous and trying working day due to lack of sleep.

...And over there, across the plaza, in the darkness of his cell, was Felipe having as much trouble sleeping as she was? Had he only been able to get any sleep at all?

...And what about Don Diego...?

He had puzzled her today... She didn’t know exactly what to think of his attitude, of the unusual way he acted and reacted. But then... becoming a parent inevitably changed people, and she didn’t know how she would react herself if her own son found himself in Felipe’s situation. Surely, she wouldn’t want to believe either that... Well in any case, she was certain she too would be ready to fight tooth and nail for him, just like Don Diego, even if...

...Even if...? Really?

But no, that couldn’t be possible. Not Felipe. Not him. Not Felipe... right?

Suddenly she thought she heard a faint sound. Keeping her mind and ears on alert, she listened intently. Burglars? A customer getting up in the middle of the night?

 _A visit from_ _Zorro_ _?_

No, not at this time of the night.

 _And that sound again._ It was coming from the bedroom next door. The best room in her tavern. The one occupied by the injured stranger.

Was she calling? Quick, Victoria got up and, for the sake of modesty, she wrapped herself in a woolen shawl.

“Señorita?” she called in a low voice, slightly knocking at the door next to hers.

No answer.

She pressed her ear to the wood of the door. Another noise. Then again. Plaintive whimpers. And other cries, a little more pronounced. Then a begging “No!”. Victoria decided to enter without further delay, and rushed to the bed. After a few seconds her eyes grew accustomed to darkness, and the feeble moonlight entering through the unshuttered windows let her make out the shape of a body, tossing and turning feebly in her bed.

“Señorita?” she repeated.

But the other woman did not seem to hear her. She kept writhing in her bed, wrapping herself in the bedsheets, her features clearly contorted, and letting out feeble whimpers. Victoria leaned over her. The screams and moans heightened again.

“N-n-no!” the woman let out again.

“Señorita, wake up!”

But the patient remained unconscious. And delirious.

“Nooo!” she repeated. “No, n-n-no, no!”

She was now flailing, shaking her head from side to side, her hands gripping the white sheets, like she was in the middle of some struggle.

“No, don’ do th’t!” the stranger then seemed to beg someone.

Victoria was about to put her hand on the woman’s forehead of to check for fever but she suspended her gesture. Obviously, the poor woman’s delirium was plagued with nightmares.

“’beg ya!” the stranger said in a pleading voice that tug at Victoria’s heartstrings.

She tried to shake her awake, but to no avail.

“Mustn’t...” the young woman went on, “musn’ do tha’!”

Her distress and agitation redoubled when she exclaimed:

“NOOO! Don’ touch m’! Lemme...”

Victoria’s heart sank for this woman, who was so obviously ensnared in the middle of a very vivid nightmare. Unless she was reliving a painful _memory_? The memory of _very recent_ events...?

Victoria frowned: she didn’t want to let this thought creep into her mind. She laid her hand on the woman’s forehead: she was burning up. On the bedside table was the herbal tea Don Diego had instructed her to give the patient as often as possible, but in her current condition the stranger was totally unable to swallow anything. All what Victoria was likely to do if she tried to give her something to drink was to make her choke on it and suffocate.

Anyway she knew she couldn’t manage to get back to sleep herself for the rest of the night. She therefore drew a chair to the bed and tried her best to appease the poor girl, wiping her forehead,whispering soothing words and waiting for a better moment to give her her medicine.


	9. Ch 9

“ _Por_ _el_ _amor de Dios,_ Ignacio, what more do you need?” Diego exclaimed, in a voice in which frustration vied with annoyance. “It all fits! I don’t doubt your soldiers’ testimonies, on the contrary! What they saw and heard perfectly complements Felipe’s deposition!”

Saying that, he pointed his forefinger to a pile of handwritten pages lying on the alcalde’s desk, and tapped them repeatedly with his finger, as if to strengthen his point.

“ _Too_ perfectly if you want my opinion, Diego. Which is indeed very troubling, don’t you think?” the alcalde replied with an oily tone that did nothing but stir up Diego’s anger. “Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that fit too perfectly...” he added.

“But of course it fits together, as that's what really happened!” Don Diego exclaimed.

“In the real world – and I speak from experience, Diego – things never fit _that well_ together. There is _always_ such and such small forgotten detail, overlooked or deliberately not mentioned, that leaves a small void, a discreet gap, a bit of play between the pieces. While here...”

De Soto paused and threw Diego a knowing look, almost accusingly.

“Here,” he went on, “everything fits perfectly, too perfectly. As if...”

Another pause from de Soto. Another look aimed at Diego.

“...As if he’d been told the exact content of the patrol’s testimony, and had been dictated a version of the story that could explain absolutely each and every point reported by my men. Without as much as a hitch, with great care given to continuity, to consistency between the two stories... You must admit that it’s somewhat unsettling...”

“I don’t like your insinuations at all, Ignacio,” Diego said in an icy voice that slightly trembled with an anger he still managed to keep under control… for now.

He took a deep breath in order to calm down: physically assaulting an alcalde, even in a moment of anger, was never a good idea – at least unmasked – and wouldn’t help his son in any way, quite the contrary.

And well, a fat lot of good that’d do to Felipe, having Diego getting himself locked up as well...

“In short, _Señor_ Alcalde, you’re keeping my son in jail and holding the charges against him on the ground that his account of the facts is entirely consistent with your soldiers’ findings and report, is that right? You must admit this is quite a peculiar logic, to say the least...”

“Your _son_ , did you say? So you’re persisting in this eccentric idea of yours?”

Diego was about to retort when Soto then shrugged with an air of total indifference and brushed aside whatever he was about to answer back with a tad dismissive sweeping gesture.

“Bah,” the alcalde said, “after all you’re free to do as you wish.”

De Soto couldn’t have made it more blatant that he couldn’t care less. An attitude that, in a way, got even more on Diego’s nerves. No insult, no outwardly despising comment could have seemed more insulting in his eyes than this so clearly claimed indifference. But he champed at the bit and concentrated on Felipe’s current predicament: this was what really mattered.

“In any case,” de Soto went on, “and as I just told you, in the real world stories never match that well, they never complement each other that perfectly. So, as long as I am not convinced of your... servant’s...”

He paused on this last word, as if to emphasise the small victory he had just gained over Diego about Felipe’s current status.

“...innocence, he will remain in jail,” de Soto finished. “It will take more than the word of a deaf-mute accused of assault on a defenseless woman for me to trust his good faith and leave him free to come and go, at the risk of endangering the other señoras and senoritas of this pueblo. These ladies’ security is, I remind you, _my_ responsibility, like that of all Los Angelinos, and I wouldn’t shirk my duty towards them.”

Diego was now clenching his fists and jaw, and he saw that there was nothing more he would get from de Soto for now.

“Basically, I need to find flaws in Felipe’s account of the facts for you to consent to believe him...”

“In the absence of the victim’s testimony, I cannot take a suspect at his word on the sole basis of his deposition, even set down on paper. There is no evidence either that he is telling the truth or that no one did ‘lend him a helping hand’ in writing it.”

Diego narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, but managed to contain himself. However, he hastened to leave the alcalde’s office, without bothering to say goodbye: there were limits to his patience – although it was very well trained and practised – and he preferred not to open his mouth now, for fear that he’d say something that would cause harm to Felipe’s cause, and perhaps also his own...

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Senorita Escalante’s temper seemed to be quite short this very morning, as some of the tavern’s patrons could note when they found themselves bearing the brunt of it. Yes, she was rather grumpy, for lack of sleep.

And a moody Victoria Escalante was never fun to deal with.

Diego de la Vega, for his part, wasn’t in the brightest mood either, what with Felipe’s situation casting a shadow on his spirits. And the conversation he had just had with the alcalde didn’t do anything to dispel all these huge clouds currently darkening his usually even – and polished – temper.

The mood was therefore stormy on both parts when he entered the tavern, seeking some comfort from a conversation with the woman he secretly loved, before he’d go upstairs to the unknown patient’s bedside and check on her condition. He was anxious for her to finally regain consciousness so that she can get Felipe out of the very tricky situation he was in. The alcalde had made very clear to him that it would be the surest – and maybe the _only_ – way to exonerate his son. And to clear Felipe’s name and restore his honour to everyone’s eyes. To the eyes of all those who doubted…

At first, everything was going well: Victoria greeted Don Diego, he made himself push his dark thoughts at the back of his mind to answer her with a smile, and soon they were talking about the woman Diego had brought there the day before, who was still sleeping somewhere upstairs.

When Victoria stifled a yawn for the third time, Don Diego asked her:

“Are you alright? You seem a bit...”

“A bit _what_ ,” she snapped.

Taken aback, Diego staggered a bit under the unexpected blow and didn’t answer right away. Victoria went on:

“A bit _tired_ , is that it? I’m looking drawn, is that what you mean? That I’m looking awful?”

“You... What? Diego stammered. NO! You never look awful, Victoria!

But she wasn’t listening to him anymore and went on:

“ _Yes_ , I’m tired. Thanks to your stranger there,” she said pointing a finger at the upper floor. “Because as I told you earlier, she had a rather restless night.”

“Did she wake up?” Diego asked briskly, perking his head up.

“No,” she answered in an annoyed voice, “otherwise that’s the first thing I would have told you when you entered my tavern! No, she didn’t wake up, but she’s gotten into delirium. Loudly enough to shorten my night, by the way. So, I went to her bedside.”

At that point of her account, an impatient patron called out to the landlady from the other side of the tavern:

“Señorita! I think you’ve forgotten my other jug!”

“Don’t you see I’m in the middle of a conversation here?” she snapped at him. “Your jug is coming, but just hold on a minute!”

“Err…” Diego said tentatively, “If I might, Victoria, you run the risk of losing your clientele if you talk–”

“Oh but really, what do _you_ know about clientele, Diego? Or about managing a tavern, for that matter?”

It was getting off to a bad start, Diego thought as he was himself quite annoyed by Victoria’s tone getting on his nerves on top of everything else. It was starting off on the wrong foot, and most importantly it was starting off askew!

“I’m afraid we’re wandering off, here, Victoria,” Diego told her after he took a deep breath to calm down.

Victoria briefly closed her eyes and breathed in too, admitting that Diego had a point there.

“You’re right, please forgive me,” she sighed. “I’m afraid sleep deprivation doesn’t agree with me…”

His usual patience being quite short today, Diego eagerly brought the conversation back to the subject that mattered to him:

“So you said she was delirious for a part of last night?”

“Yes. Shortening my own night, by the way. Whatever, at first it seemed incoherent: moans, some random interjections, these kinds of things–”

“ _Interjections?_ ” Diego cut in. “Oh, so she was _talking_ in her sleep?”

Visibly annoyed by his interruption, she failed to hide it.

“Yes,” she answered a bit too strongly, “I mean yes she spoke, but I’m not sure she was _sleeping_. I don’t know… can hallucinating and being delirious be called ‘sleeping’, anyway?”

“Hallucinating?”

“Oh, Don Diego, it seemed to be horrible for her, poor thing... I think she was reliving... It must have been awful for her. In any case it was heart-rending, I was there, standing right next to her, there was nothing I could do for her, and she was writhing... and begging... one would have had to have a heart of stone not to... not to sympathise with her in... well, I’m not sure how to... in what she’s been through!

Victoria seemed very flustered and she ended her sentence looking away, first to the side at a bunch of early regulars, then she lowered her head and stared at the tea towel she wash holding and twisting in her hands. Yes, she seemed troubled, but to Diego the most troubling was that she seemed not to want, not to _dare_ look at him.

“Oh, and _what_ , exactly?” he asked in a colder tone than he wanted to. “What, pray tell, has she been through, according to you?”

There was even in his voice a hint of warning tinged with thread, not unlike that Zorro used when addressing the alcalde for instance. But Victoria was feeling too awkward to note it, and also too annoyed with Diego: she was resenting him a little for trying to make her say aloud what she barely dared to acknowledge inwardly. She tried to dodge the issue, to kick into touch:

“Well, er…” she faltered, “I don’t… er… I mean…”

She paused a moment, still not raising her eyes to her friend’s face, like she was fascinated by her dishcloth that was now as twisted as if she wanted to wring it out. Then in a lowered voice, barely audible, she added:

“…y’know…”

There was no way she would have dared to look Diego in the face at this very instant. But if she had, she would have found him white-faced, pallid, nearly aghast. Disbelieving, too.

Then he stiffened, straightened up even more, pursed his lips and gritted his teeth, and in a voice colder and curter than anything she had ever heard from someone she liked, he replied:

“No I don’t know.”

Rallying her courage that had gone on the lam, she finally dared to raise her eyes to his face: she had never seen him that closed, that shut-down before. So foreign and different from the easy-going and affable Diego she had been rubbing shoulders with for many years.

Clenched-jawed. Stiff-shouldered. An attitude he demonstrated not even toward de Soto. To this point, at least. His antagonism toward the alcalde was always prudently contained; showed, granted, but not so… pronounced. Displayed

He went on, his tone and whole attitude still as chilly:

“And you don’t know either, as you weren’t there.”

Victoria’s short night caught up with her bad mood and her natural heated temper, and she perked up to her normal feisty self:

“And _you_ weren’t there last night,” she accused him. “ _I_ was. I was there, right beside her. You haven’t heard her cries. _I_ have. You haven’t heard her beg… You haven’t–”

She stopped short when she finally took notice that a part of her customers were watching her and were intently listening to their discussion. She lowered her voice considerably, but her tone remained as firm as before when she told him barely above a whisper:

“You haven’t heard her beg him not to touch her, to let go of her… Oh Don Diego, it was so… Well, I can’t find the word, but even though I’d like to do as though I hadn’t heard, try as I may I can’t. I _have_ heard. And it’s impossible for me to forget that!

“And what, then?” Diego asked crisply. “Just on some words mumbled by a delirious stranger whose story you don’t know, you no longer trust Felipe whom you've been knowing since he is a child? You take back the faith you had in him? Is _this_ what your affection is like? Not _you_ , Victoria…”

He paused, pursed his lips again, furrowed his brow, peered at her as if he could see through her, to the inmost depths of her being, then he went on:

“You blindly trust a masked man whose name, face, history, home, and even kind of life you know nothing about, to the point of giving him your faith; but at the first hearsay, at the first deceptive appearance you’re willing to believe the worst about Felipe? Does one have to be sheer mystery to have your trust and faith? Can’t you give them fully to a very real man, whom you’ve been knowing and seeing everyday for years?

Diego told her this in such an angry and reproachful tone of voice that it left her under the impression that in his eyes, it was as if _she_ herself had double-locked Felipe’s cell. That was quite a bit much to Victoria, who didn’t like Diego’s accusatory tone at all.

What? He dared try to make her look bad, while she had housed, tended, nursed and watched over the stranger Diego himself had brought her! While she gave up half her night at the bedside of a woman who wasn’t anything to her, after all! Meanwhile, where was _he_ last night? Quite simply cosily ensconced in his bed! That was rich, and she intended to make him aware of that.

“Well, I’ll tell you what: tonight, _you_ will watch over your stranger, and _you_ will spend your night at her bedside, sitting on a mere chair! That will make quite a change from last night, that you probably spent like all other nights: snugly burrowed under your embroidered sheets, your head resting on a goose down pillow. After all, _you_ don’t have a job to carry out all day long on the day after; you can go to bed at dawn tomorrow, and also take a loooooong siesta!"

Diego seemed to take very badly what Victoria just threw in his face, and with a low voice quivering with rage he retorted:

“You know nothing whatsoever about my nights, Victoria; and if you imagine that I could sleep even one wink last night, then it only proves, if proof were still needed, just how little you know me.”

He took a long breath, trying to calm the anger threatening to make him reveal things he would later regret having let slip out in a surge of frustrated rage.

“As little as you know Felipe, it seems,” he added.

Under that blow, Victoria let out a long sigh, but she didn’t recoil. Anyway, Don Diego seemed to be far too worked up right now to see reason, and she was also beginning to think that perhaps, she indeed didn’t know him that well: never before had she seen him in such a state, and what’s more, never before had he thrown such things in her face. Before this day, she had never really quarrelled with Diego de la Vega, and she was currently discovering how _not_ pleasant it was. At all.

He wasn’t pulling any punch.

After this short pause, she was about to retort sharply when she saw Diego reach for his jacket’s inside pocket and take some handwritten sheets of paper out of it; he laid them on the counter and told her:

“If ever perchance you’re still the slightest bit interested in truth, read this.”

She glanced at the folded sheets and recognised the basic-quality paper she used here in her tavern, the one she had given Diego the day before.

“Felipe has set down on paper what happened yesterday morning,” he told her. “I’d like to make clear, before you make the same accusations as the alcalde did, that he did so without me giving any indication as to what the soldiers said they heard and saw. He wrote it alone yesterday night, in duplicate, and I left one of the copies with the alcalde – not that it seemed to convince him in the least, incidentally, but well, you know de Soto… But _you_ , Victoria… if a semblance of faith in Felipe remained in you, read this.”

Victoria felt a bit shaken by Diego’s absolute certainty but, still too angry with him and his accusations, she didn’t let it show.

“And when exactly am I supposed to find the time to do that?” she retorted with a hint of bad faith. “My tavern begins to be quite overcrowded, my customers are getting impatient, and I am on my own to take care of it. Surprising though it might seem to you, some people have work to carry out!”

“Well, there’s still siesta time,” Diego pointed out through gritted teeth.

“I happen to already have something else planned for siesta time,” she replied sharply.

“And what exactly?” Diego asked, suddenly anxious to know with whom she planned to make use of her free time.

“Well, siesta!” she snapped tit for tat. “Because, it might come as a surprise to you but under three hours a night I have some difficulties to fully function and get the daily work done.”

Diego stared at her a while, seemingly preparing his next retort. Then he seemed to reconsider and glanced up, as though he wanted to see through the walls and ceiling to check on the wounded stranger who was resting in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Then he brought his attention back to Victoria.

“Still, find so much as five minutes of your time to take a look at this” he told her patting his son’s prose with him palm. “I leave this copy with you, I’ll get it back after siesta.”

He then turned on his heels and climbed the stairs two by two before rushing into the stranger’s bedroom.


	10. Ch 10

Siesta time seemed to take forever to come that day, as far as Victoria was concerned. The morning had dragged on, lunch was drawing out and the patrons were many, noisy and demanding; or that was at least how it felt to her.

Her customers, as for them, had quickly noticed that the landlady had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed; and if it had escaped the attention of some less observant customers, her altercation with Don Diego opened their eyes. But what had most surprised the "public" of their impromptu little scene was not to hear señorita Escalante raise her voice and fly off the handle: her rather...volcanic temperament, to put it politely, was quite well-known around.

No, what stunned the witnesses of this heated exchange was Don Diego’s behavior: first, he was not used to stand up to anyone who raised their voice even the slightest bit, but especially to some regulars – more perceptive than others – it was very surprising to see him clash with señorita Escalante of all people. Indeed, and without him being aware of it, some patrons had taken good notice on the one hand of his regular attendance to the tavern – for a man who didn’t indulge much in... ‘manly’ drinks, so to speak – and on the other hand of the slightly too intent and lingering gazes he turned on the landlady when she was not looking at him.

Yes, to these ones, the short but bitter rant about Zorro he let out during his heated discussion with Victoria really made sense. But after all, they thought, why meddle in others’ affairs of the heart? Anyway, the poor guy had zero chance, so they totally understood that he wouldn’t tell his ladylove anything about these feelings...

Now that the show was over, they stuck their nose back some into their plates, the others into their glasses, surprised however that de la Vega had dared to stand up to someone, and to throw señorita Escalante against the ropes of the metaphorical boxing ring.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Siesta time, finally!

Victoria let out a sigh of relief once her last customer walked out and her tavern was therefore empty.

She felt drained, really, and some kind of constant buzz remained in her mind: she absolutely needed some quiet and some rest.

Dragging her feet, she shuffled to the stairs and slowly climbed it, motivated however by the prospect of a well-deserved nap. Once in her room she took off her apron, didn’t bother to hang it on the hook behind her door but carelessly threw it over a chair next to her bed, and she slumped onto the mattress.

She was tired. She was sleepy. She thought she would fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but that was not the case. The scene with Don Diego kept coming back to the front of her mind. His bitterness, his unusually hard and curt words, and above all his tone, as cold and cutting as ice. His anger. His concern for Felipe.

And her own words. Her own harshness and reproaches toward Diego. Her accusations of laziness and idleness. And Felipe... At some point during the quarrel she totally lost sight of his fatherly concern, anguish and suffering for Felipe. Yes, how could she accuse him of having spent a quiet night when he was acutely and sorely aware that his son was in jail? Of course he too had not slept a wink either!

She was very tired herself, yes, and she’d like to sleep, here and now, right away, but the thought of Don Diego was preventing her from it. Or rather, her own guilty conscience was. This was however not her fault that Felipe was in jail! She was in dire need of sleep, and Don Diego dared ask her to give up her siesta to read whatever he told her to: the nerve of this man!

Well, all right, she was going to sleep first, but afterwards if there was still some time left before getting back to work, then she’d read those damn papers...

Two more minutes had flown by, and she still wasn’t asleep... Felipe’s testimony was there, folded in the pocket of herapron, within reach... But really, she was too sleepy. Three minutes... she’d just have to reach out to the chair and dig into the pocket...

The church bell rang the quarter of the hour, and she still wasn’t sleeping.

_Oh_ _, all right Don Diego, you win!_

A little annoyed, she sat up with some difficulty on the edge of the mattress and grabbed her apron. Delving her hand into her pocket she pulled out the pages Felipe had frantically scribbled in his jerky writing, perhaps flustered by the situation and the issue at stake. Leaning back against her pillow, she began to read.

Surprised, she found that the account began very abruptly, but after all, she thought, Felipe had probably chosen to go straight to the point, to get directly to the heart of the matter: it was a testimony for an investigation, not a personal letter or a sappy romance novel. Facts, nothing but facts, Don Diego probably told him.

She brought her attention back to Felipe’s story, perusing the first paragraph once again and going on reading:

_The_ _horse reared up and its rider did her best to stay in the saddle; she held fast and tugged hard at the reins, trying to control her mount. But it was not enough and her horse reared even more. This time, the animal fell over on its right side with its rider still in the saddle, her mouth wide open, probably screaming._

_I feared_ _for her and immediately dismounted to get to her side, assess her condition and offer my assistance._

_She was_ _clenching her teeth and her face was contorted, clear indications that she was obviously in pain. Luckily the horse got up, releasing her left leg which was previously trapped between its flank and the ground, and it hobbled several paces away from us, allowing me to crouch down_ _right at its mistress’s side_ _._

_I_ _cannot say whether or not she moaned but she was furrowing her brows, screwing up her eyes and breathing heavily, both through her mouth and her dilated nostrils. I feared she had broken a few ribs in the fall, but a quick examination helped me identify the source of her pain: she had fallen onto her shoulder and under the impact and the angle of collision, it dislocated._

_Signing_ _, I tried to make her understand that I would help her, that she shouldn’t move, shouldn’t try to get up. I also tried to make her understand that I could neither hear nor speak, but I think she didn’t understand any my signs; her mind was probably too fogged by pain for that, or maybe she was dizzy and dazed from the impact on the ground, because I noticed a trickle of blood running from her forehead down her temple, and a bump was forming just above it: Her head must have hit the ground a bit hard when she fell. Luckily there was no stone right there, just some grits that scratched the side of her face._

_The woman_ _seemed to finally understand that I wanted to assess her condition and check her injuries. She let me get closer. Her left leg that had been briefly crushed by the horse’s weight did not seem to have suffered from it, and the victim did not appear to have any broken ribs – for what little I could judge_ – _as_ _she was taking deep breaths, something she otherwise couldn’t have done without feeling some very sharp pain._

_I can only suppose that she_ _first fell on her upper body, with her shoulder and her head being the first parts to hit the ground, taking all the blow of the impact. It therefore let me hope that the blow to her forehead, the scratches to her face and the dislocation were the only injuries she suffered from; nothing life-threatening, I thought._

_However,_ _it was essential to reset her shoulder, first_ _to alleviate her current pain_ _, and then because in the case of such a wound, time plays against recovery: the longer the head of the humerus remains dislodged, the more ligaments, tendons and the whole joint may keep some aftereffects, leading to frequent relapses while performing seemingly harmless gestures._

_I therefore tried to_ _make her understand that I was going to lift her upper body up and sit behind her to try to reset her shoulder back in its socket, but once again she seemed not to understand my signs. Moreover, she seemed more and more restless and agitated, out of pain and confusion I guess._

_But as I_ _was trying to calm her down and to make myself understood, I saw the scorpion creep up on us._

What? Victoria exclaimed inwardly. A scorpion? He hadn’t written about it yet! She then resumed reading.

_…I saw the_ _scorpion creep up on us. Before I had time to react, probably excited by all the previous agitation the scorpion attacked the woman by stinging her right thigh through her clothing. Her face contorted even more for a few seconds._

_Afterwards_ _she looked at her leg, incredulously at first, then she seemed to understand what had just happened. For my part I tried to keep a cool head and to act quickly: I took my knife, hiked the victim’s skirt and petticoat to clear the sting, signing to her that the venom had to be drained out. But whether she did not understand or she panicked, in any case she began to writhe and asked me not to do it – at least according to what I think I read on her lips._

_But I knew_ _that the more she moved and thrashed about, the more quickly the venom would spread in her body, and I had to get it out. I suspect she doesn’t know the first thing about snake bites or scorpion stings nor how to treat them. Pressed for time and having to act fast, so I decided to do without her cooperation, thinking that I could and would later explain to her the need for this procedure._

_I_ _pressed on her knee with mine to trap it_ _and prevent it from moving_ _,_ _and with one hand I pinned her thigh to the ground while I was holding the knife in the other. But the woman writhed even more and, probably frightened by the knife, she asked me to let go of it, but I had to force the venom out and I didn’t have time to explain it to her through signs: time was of the essence. So I increased my grip on her leg by pressing on it with all my strength: it was absolutely necessary to prevent it from moving while I was cutting through the skin and flesh, for fear that the blade might slip, miss the sting, and also hurt her elsewhere. And I also had to make a clean and quick cut._

_I tried_ _not to panic and sharply incised the area of the sting, from a few inches above it, running right on it, and going on down to a few inches below. Then I pressed the edges of the cut to make it bleed and evacuate as much poison as possible._

_The woman had_ _stopped struggling, she simply stared at the wound, looking aghast, and said nothing. But I did not worry, thinking that once she’d been brought to the pueblo’s doctor, the latter would explain everything to her._

_Now that_ _she was calmer, I had to take care of her shoulder. Again I attempted to sign to her, to let her know I was going to reset the bone back in place and that she had to trust me, but realising I was going to touch her arm and her shoulder that ached greatly, she cringed and I think she tried to tell me not to touch it. With her other hand she motioned me to move back. She seemed to be terribly dreading the pain that she was already imagining just by thinking someone would touch her arm._

_But then again_ _I knew I had to reset the head of the bone_ _in its socket_ _as soon as possible. Again she panicked and probably shouted, and perhaps also spoke to me, but I was no longer looking at her face. She struggled and didn’t let me move to sit behind her, so to reduce the dislocation I had to remain in front of her, pinning her to the ground with my upper body and holding both her shoulders down with my left arm, my fingers palpating the articulation to feel the position of the bone, while with my right hand I gripped her arm just above the elbow, and with a jerk I set the shoulder back in place._

_In doing so_ _, I felt some air blow at the side of my face, which makes me think she shrieked loudly. But when I looked back at her I saw that, probably due to the combined effects of the pain she was experiencing and the blow to the head she had received_ _when she fell_ – _and maybe also of the amount of venom that had already spread in her body – she had lost consciousness._

 _And that’s when_ _I felt something poking in my back and turned around_ _:_ _I then saw Sergeant Mendoza point his sword at me. I got up and tried to make him understand the urgent need to bring this woman to the pueblo as soon as possible, and to have a doctor tend to her. It took me a whole minute to realise what the soldiers_ _believed_ _had happened, as I was a very long way from even thinking about such a thing. And when I did realise, I attempted to explain myself, but try as I might it was to no avail: none of them understood my signs. Telling myself that, once back in the pueblo, the misunderstanding would clear up quickly, and especially once the woman regained consciousness, I let the soldiers tie my hands and take me back to the village, though it pained me to be treated like a criminal, especially by people I knew well. And who_ , _I thought_ _– mistakenly, apparently – knew me well too._

On this bitter note, Felipe ended his deposition, leaving Victoria much to think about.


	11. Ch 11

Don Diego was simmering and seething inwardly, out of frustration and forced idleness. He hated doing nothing, not _being able_ to do anything, feeling helpless and useless. This was, contrary to what he let show to others, the exact opposite of who and what he was.

And there, at the bedside of this woman who persisted in not regaining consciousness, he felt he was at the apex of his helplessness. His only solace was that since the incident that befell José Rivas over two years ago, the alcalde had learned not to rush to judgment, or at least to sentence, and for the time being Felipe was only in custody. But he might well never be cleared, Zorro seeming right now equally as useless in this matter as Diego felt helpless, as the latter was well aware of. Here was there no criminal or delinquent to catch and turn over to the authorities in lieu of his son, because in spite of appearances there had been no crime or offence.

And only this woman could testify of it and convince the alcalde. As well as the rest of the pueblo.

Even Victoria... Yet he wouldn’t have thought...

He let out a long and heavy sigh. Cruel thought. Disillusion, even. A cold shower.

He straightened up, shaking his head: now was not the time to think about that. His only concern at that moment was to be Felipe.

Not that this was a more cheerful subject, far from it. Of all the people Diego had seen so far, his father was the only one who had not believed even for one second the serious charges leveled against him. The alcalde, Mendoza, the doctor, the corporal, the fruit vendor on the plaza, the old cripple begging next to the hitching post, and even Victoria, all believed to some degree in what Felipe was accused of.

 _And_ _Padre Benitez?_ Diego wondered. He too knew Felipe quite well, would he believe in the young man’s innocence? He who regularly ‘heard’ him in confession, who had sometimes advised him, who could look inside the hearts of his flock… would he have enough faith in Felipe not to stop at appearances, although highly adverse?

This made him think that he was himself probably in need of his spiritual assistance in this ordeal, since he couldn’t take any action right now. And given Felipe’s situation, a prayer to the Holy Mother, comforter of the distressed, would not go amiss anyway. And it would certainly do some good to himself too.

He glanced at the still unconscious woman, who seemed to be peacefully resting. It was siesta time, all was quiet around him and probably throughout the whole pueblo, and he thought that, after all, she did not _constantly_ need someone at her bedside.

And yes, tormented as he was, Diego probably needed a soothing talk with the good _padre_.

Taking good care not to make any noise so that he wouldn’t wake anyone does during this sacrosanct siesta time – after all, had he not mastered that subject, in all these years? – he exited the bedroom, went downstairs and left the tavern, heading for the church.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

 _Santa_ _Madre de Dios, Thou who have seen Thy Son be wrongfully condemned, I beg Thee, intercede for mine with our Lord. Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Ángeles, Mother of all men, who have seen Thy Son suffer and die to redeem us, I beg Thee on my knees, protect mine, support and comfort him throughout this trial._

 _Saint Joseph_ _,_ _who have welcomed, raised, protected, and loved the child you have not sired, hear my fatherly prayer._

 _You, my_ _dear mother, who left us at such an early age and never had the joy to know Felipe in your earthly time, watch over this grandson of yours you've never met, but whose heart and worth you now know from your Eternity._

_O Dios, have mercy on us._

_Saint Philip_ _the Apostle, you who followed and assisted the Lord during His earthly life and bore His message beyond it, please watch over him who bears your name and hear his word._

 _Saint_ _James the Greater, under whose auspices I was baptised and whose name I bear, I beg you, extend your protection to my son._

 _Holy_ _Innocents, patron saints of foundlings, please keep watching over Felipe and make it so that his innocence is proved._

 _Saint_ _Raymond Nonnatus, patron saint of those whose lips are sealed and of secret-keeping, of victims of rumours, lies and false testimony, intercede with the Lord so that our lies, through either word or omission, might be forgiven to both of us. And if someone still has to atone for those sins, then may it be granted to me to be the only one to expiate them, and to take upon myself the weight of the lies Felipe has committed for me, to protect me._

Kneeling on a prie-dieu in the transept, before a modest statue of the Virgin and a simple wooden cross, Diego was praying fervently. Though the weight of his lie toward his father burdened him constantly, though what he hid from Victoria always unpleasantly tinged with bitterness the moments he spent – masked or not – with her, he had never really dared question himself about the sin of lying that he was constantly guilty of before men and towards God, who yet saw everything.

Until then he had comforted himself by telling his troubled soul once and for all that the Lord who, precisely, saw everything, also saw inside his heart and understood the need for these constant and repeated lies. He had never really thought about the consequences of making Felipe lie too, even with his total agreement, even if it was his choice. Over the last few years, he had somehow raised Felipe with lie as a constant companion. Probably not the healthiest or soundest environment and companionship for a young soul in development, Diego thought suddenly.

Was what they were experiencing now some backlash? Great perpetrators of lies on a daily basis, they now found themselves trapped in turn by another lie, for which they were this time absolutely not responsible, with which they had for once nothing to do. Ironic, wasn’t it?

In this instant, Diego felt the need to seek the _padre_ ’s assistance, even though he could not, of course, confide in him totally open-heartedly, for the good priest’s own safety. But upon his arrival at the church he had been answered that Padre Benitez was away for the rest of the day. He would therefore have to postpone. Too bad, Felipe too would probably have appreciated a visit from good _padre_.

Roused out of his reverent contemplation, Diego reluctantly got up and decided to get back to his vigil over the sick stranger, before going back to the _cuartel_ to visit Felipe in his cell and spend some time with him, to try to reassure him and take his mind off things, if ever possible.

Thinking about the _cuartel_ and walking along it suddenly gave Diego an idea to try to learn more about the stranger: Felipe had told him that the soldiers had brought back her horse, who limped, and he thought that it was certainly still tied there. She was certainly not traveling empty-handed and had to have some baggage with her, and in this baggage, personal belongings that could ‘talk’ about their owner.

Indeed, there was there an unfamiliar horse, whose front left ankle had been carefully bandaged but who, paradoxically, had not even been unsaddled, poor thing... But sure enough this suited Don Diego rather well, as he could reach into her saddle bag at leisure. Then, taking pity on the poor animal, he put aside his initial idea and unsaddled the horse, setting saddle and stirrups astride on the hitching post, after what he simply grabbed the saddle bag and brought it back with him to the tavern. It was still siesta time, there was hardly anyone around, and no one did ask him any question.


	12. Ch 12

About to go downstairs to reopen her tavern now that potential customers were roused from siesta, Victoria Escalante threw a glance out through the window to see whether activity resumed in Los Angeles.

Huh? What on earth was Don Diego doing, rummaging through this woman’s belongings?

She had recognised her horse by the description Corporal Sepulveda had made of it, and anyway, there were not so many lame nags in the _cuartel_!

Whatever, Don Diego seemed to take a very close interest in that woman, Victoria reflected. Bah, after all, what concern was it of hers? At least now _he_ was the one keeping watch over her!

Still, a man, a bachelor, spending so much time alone at a lady’s bedside, in her bedroom! Granted, she was not a _woman_ but a _patient_ here, and he was acting as sick-nurse, but still! She wasn’t fully sure it was very seemly. Especially as he was going to spent the night by her side! The _night_! The _whole_ night, with her!

Victoria was nearly coming to regret that the stranger wasn’t coming from the kind of social backgrounds where a lady never went anywhere without a duenna. And she wondered: who could play chaperone to Diego and that woman? Surely she wasn’t going to do it herself, or the whole point of having saddled him with the nursing duty so that she could peacefully sleep in her own bed all night long would thereby be lost!

But still... Diego and a woman, alone a whole night in the same bedroom... it didn’t seem very proper.

Not that she did not trust Diego or thought he wouldn’t be a gentleman: she knew he was. She had herself experienced quite similar circumstances a few years ago, when she and Diego had been forced to take shelter in an old isolated mill and spent the night there. He hadn’t tried anything whatsoever, not the slightest attempt or gesture, not even a sidelong glance, nothing! Nothing untoward. The perfect gentleman. It had even been almost a little slighting, unflattering, in a twisted way...

She did not have time to reflect further on the matter as Diego came in, carrying a large saddle bag. When he saw her he paused almost imperceptibly and Victoria, as for her, froze for a split second before turning to another direction, feeling the sudden and pressing urge to check the bottles lined up on the shelf behind her counter.

Diego and Victoria hadn’t crossed path again since their earlier quarrel, and the former still felt disappointed, annoyed and saddened, when the latter was now rather sheepish and not very happy with herself.

In short, neither felt too comfortable in the presence of the other. And unfortunately, no one else was present in the tavern at this moment. They could not therefore pretend to ignore each other and immerse oneself in a conversation with some other client; they had to face up to the awkward situation.

Rather embarrassed, Diego cleared his throat and, his voice a bit forced and not very natural, asked in a tone that he tried to make trivial:

“I hope the heat did not inconvenience you... Were you able to get some rest?”

 _Pathetic_ , he berated himself. _Why on earth_ _couldn’t I find anything else to tell her?_

Still very tense, hardly daring to look him in the eyes, Victoria was however relieved that he seemed to want to act as if nothing happened, and she tried to play along. She answered in a somewhat forced voice:

“Yes, thank you Don Diego... You are right,” she added after a short pause, “it’s rather hot today.”

 _Oh, honestly_ _!_ she then told herself. _I_ _don’t even have the guts to tell him that I finally read Felipe’s version of the facts nor to apologize for nearly calling him lazy. I chickened out, there’s no other word!_ _F_ _rom now on, are_ _we condemned to talk only about the weather?_

“I, uh...” Diego began, vaguely pointing upstairs. “I'll go back there and check that everything is alright with our... uh... our guest.”

“Yes,” Victoria replied rather abruptly. “Yes, you do that.”

He remained there for one more second, looking at her, as if waiting for... well, for a sign from her, a word, _something_ , she didn’t know what – really? didn’t she know? –then he suddenly turned and briskly climbed the stairs without looking back.

Involuntarily, Victoria felt a bit relieved not to be facing him anymore, but she let out a long sigh of frustration at herself. _“I’ve read_ _Felipe’s testimony, now I believe him”,_ honestly what would it have cost her to tell him so, other than swallowing her pride a little bit, for once?

That, and also: _“_ _What are you doing with this woman’s personal effects? You certainly don’t mean to get her changed yourself?”_

Hmm… no, she thought, not this. Not that she was not curious to know, but given the very recently... fissured... state oftheir friendship, it didn’t seem judicious. Not right now, anyway.

Sighing, she returned to her counter.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

One change of clothes, a purse, a long white shirt for the night – pretty refined embroidery, a slightly blushing Diego noted against his better judgment – a flowery shawl, some... uh... some very personal small garments – that Diego hastily put aside without taking too close a look – a hairbrush, some crushed biscuits, a rosary, a book... and that was it.

This woman certainly knew about travelling light. And useful. The hallmark of a practical mind, he reflected.

Except for the fact that there was no trace of a weapon of any sort, not even a knife. Practical, but hardly cautious, was this solitary traveler...

Diego took a closer look at the rosary: green and blue, the _Paters_ and _Glorias_ made of lapis lazuli, the _Aves_ of malachite, it was by far the most valuable item of all what she was travelling with. Family heirloom? On the reverse of the small central medallion where hung the last beads and the crucifix was engraved a dedication to Santa Maria de la Luz.

Some of the clothes were not marked at all, and the others were just marked with the same initials, L and A, as the handkerchief was. Ah! The nightshirt was embroidered at the back of its collar with a longer series of initials: M.L.S.I.A.V.S.G.P.

Long, but not very telling.

The biscuits were wrapped in a handkerchief. _M.L.A.P._ Her initials, somewhat more detailed than on the other one? Anyhow, this told him nothing more useful about her.

Diego gave a look at the book, and was a bit surprised when he recognizing the title: _Cartas_ _eruditas y curiosas_ , by Benito Jerónimo Feijóo; the fifth volume.

He was about to lay it back on the bedside table when he noticed some piece ofpaper stick out of it. Curious, and although it wasn’t any of his business, he grabbed the corner of the sheet and pulled it out of the pages that held it.

The sheet of paper was folded in four, and was covered with a rounded handwriting. Diego unfolded it and clearly saw that it was a letter. Immediately he looked at the bottom for the signature: it was from _Padre_ Benitez!

More and more curious, and appeasing his guilty conscience by telling himself he was doing this only in order to identify the stranger, he began to read it.

 _Dear daughter_ _,_

 _It is with_ _great pleasure that I received your reply, showing the interest that awakened in you the request I had passed on in the various Californian missions and parishes in which I happen to have some contact._

 _As you_ _shall see, our pueblo is quite modest in size, much smaller than the cities and towns you’ve lived in up to now, if I go by what you wrote in your letter. People here are mainly_ _peónes_ _, sometimes illiterate, but there are also some families of merchants, shopkeepers, rancheros and landowners._

 _And to answer_ _the question you raised in your letter, the size of our pueblo and the small number of children attending the mission school make so that they are all together and we don’t plan to separate the instruction dispensed to girls from that given to boys._

 _Admittedly, the arrival of an_ _extra teacher in the mission will allow us to separate the pupils, but I was thinking more along the lines of doing so with regard to their age or level, so that the teaching could better fit each the pupil’s needs, according to what he already knows and what he still has to learn._

 _I would_ _gladly see you and show you our mission and our pueblo if despite the distance you’d like to get an idea for yourself and to discuss in person all of this or even more. All you will have to do is to show up at the mission or the church, and ask for me._

 _If you are still interested,_ _let me wish you a pleasant and peaceful journey from Monterey._

_Dominus tecum, mea filia, et i in pace._

_Yours faithfully_ _,_

 _Padre_ _Benitez, humilis peccator_


	13. Ch 13

Too bad the _padre_ was gone and would not return until the following day! He would probably have been able to tell them more about that woman’s identity, as well as where she was coming from and even her address, and therefore they could have known who they needed to inform of her current condition! According to the letter, Los Angeles was indeed where she was heading to, and her trip seemed to have something to do with the mission and the school. _An extra_ _teacher_ , the _padre_ had written...

Meanwhile, all this did still not resolve Felipe’s situation...

The patient’s condition seemed to be stable. Not necessarily very reassuring, but stable. At least her condition wasn’t getting worse.

Currently she appeared to be sleeping almost peacefully, despite her glistening flushed face that could let anyone guess she was suffering from fever. Her body was fighting infection or venom, or both. In order to take a look at the state of her wound, Diego lowered the bedsheet down to her knees and folded her nightshirt up, baring the lower half of her right thigh.

The cut was still there of course, reddened, swollen, oozing. But not suppurating, that was at least something.

Diego soaked a cloth with the herbal infusion he was making her drink from time to time, when she could swallow something, that is to say when she was on the verge of waking up or getting into a fit of delirium, and he gently dabbed the wound with it. He then laid the cloth onto it to let the healing herbs work.

Half an hourlater, heremoved thecloth anddippedanother clean towelin the same mixtureof salt waterand alcoholas the doctor previously usedto clean the wound. Againhedabbedrepeatedly todisinfect it, but instead ofletting theclothapplied to the cuthe let the woundexposed to air, withoutpullingeitherher nightshirtorthe bedsheet back in place. And prudishness be damned! Her recoverywas whatmattered mosttoDiego.

Still keeping watch on her condition, he observed her a bit more closely. Indeed, she didn’t have the rough hands of a peón, he had already noticed as much. Didn’t have the tanned complexion of those who spent their days outdoors, but neither did she sport the refined pallor cultivated in the Madrilenian salons he used to frequent in his youth.

There, as she lay on the bed, seized with fever, her face damp and glistening, her features drawn by the fatigue of her condition, and her hair down, spread on the pillow and stuck together with sweat and dust, it was difficult to guess how old she could be. Except that she was quite certainly younger than he was himself. But other than that... Victoria’s age, perhaps? Older than Felipe, anyway. She was an adult. Not that Felipe was not nearly one now, but still… to Diego he would ever be the little boy he took in and fostered… That’s the way parents are.

So, older than Felipe and younger than himself, that was about all he could assess.

Not wanting to let anyone believe – or rather _guess_ – that he had been rummaging through her things, Diego began to put all the personal belongings he had taken out back in the saddle bag. He quickly picked up her small intimate garments and stuffed them into the bag, then he folded the spare clothes, laid the book over it, rewrapped the biscuits in the handkerchief and, so that the rosary would not get lost a midst all this, he came up with the idea of putting it in the purse.

Having loosened its strings, he saw that in addition to the coins he had expected to find inside was also a small oblong leather case. Too small to contain a weapon.

Already quite sure of what he would find in there, Diego opened it and saw a pair of eye spectacles with oval lenses and thin wire rims, equipped with straight arms designed to rest on the ears.

So, she was he little bit weak-eyed? Diego tried them on: indeed things actually appeared a bit blurry to him through these and he almost got tears in his eyes, but it was still very bearable: the correction probably wasn’t too strong.

Putting her things back in her saddlebag, he took another glance at their owner: she appeared to be still very quiet and showed no signs either of awakening – unfortunately – or of impending fit of delirium, so Diego decided to make the most of it and go visit Felipe in his cell.

After a last glance at the woman he left the room and went downstairs.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

The daily activity had resumed in the tavern and Victoria was dragging her feet from table to table, stifling her yawns and trying not to spill or knock anything over. She still had not recovered from her shortened night, her siesta having been disturbed by the thought of Felipe moping in his cell and her tiff with Don Diego.

Speaking of the devil… The latter was precisely going down the stairs. Avoiding eye contact with him, she turned to the entrance. Well, decidedly, she was surrounded by de la Vegas: Don Alejandro had just entered her tavern.

“I’ve just seen Felipe,” she heard him tell his son. “His spirits are not exactly very high,” he added.

_Poor Felipe, Victoria sighed inwardly. Still not too proud of herself, she tried to smother her guilty conscience and to redeem herself to her own eye by thinking about sending him some snack to improve the meagre and bland garrison’s staple diet._

She slipped inside her kitchen just when Don Diego was answering his father:

“I’m about to go visit him myself. She’s still unconscious.”

No need to wonder about this _‘she’_ , Victoria knew exactly who he was referring to.

Grabbing a wicker basket she laid a clean cloth inside and stuffed some fruits, three slices of cured ham, a boiled egg, two quesadillas and a portion of cuajada custard.

When she went back to the main room Don Alejandro was going upstairs and Don Diego was watching him climb the stairs.

 _C’mon, chin up,_ Victoria urged herself, _I have to_ _go and talk to him_. A fine intention indeed, yet she remained rooted to the spot near the counter, a remnant of little cowardice apparently preventing her from getting her feet into action.

But Don Diego was already turning toward the exit and about to start walking out.

 _C’mon_ _!_ This time Victoria found the courage to cross the few steps that were keeping them apart and, doing her best to make it look fortuitous, she nevertheless stood rooted in his way.

Stopping short before bumping into her, he lowered a rather surprised and questioning look on her.

 _I absolutely must find something_ _to say_... Victoria thought, _quick!_

“I... uh... So, how's your patient?” she finally asked.

Which was a very pointless question of course, not that she was totally indifferent to the señorita’s fate, but in fact she had just heard him tell his father there was no change, nothing new. But at least this allowed her to re-engage the conversation without directly broaching the regrets she knew she would have to formulate but had decidedly quite some trouble getting out of her mouth.

“Still the same,” he let out, more laconic than ever.

 _Pfff_ , Victoria sighed, _he has still not warmed up to me._

“I see...” she replied, not finding anything better to reply.

Another awkward silence.

Diego, on his part, wasn’t feeling much better-at-ease. A whirl of mingled and warring emotions, each one as unpleasant as the others, was twirling inside him right now. Worry, annoyance, embarrassment, irritation, weariness, frustration, bitterness, and a remnant of resentment too...

And that awkward silence between them was not helping, in this moment when more than ever he needed moral support from his friends. And especially from the woman he loved.

She doubted Felipe. Mistrusted him. All these years long, Diego had been able to accept his own feelings for her, to accept to hide them, to accept the role of the ever loyal friend, to accept that she’d offer him, Diego, nothing else than a friendly affection; to accept the idea that plainly enough she couldn’t love the man behind the mask. _From_ her as well as _for_ her, he had accepted almost everything.

Everything, with regard to himself. But with regard to the one he already considered his son... That she was not in love with him was one thing, but that she could think even one second that Felipe...

Did she know them both so little?

Yet she was there, right in front of him, and was speaking to him. At least that was something. And he couldn’t come up with anything better to answer her than three simple little words, not even a complete sentence?

In his mind, resentment on the one hand and desire to be conciliatory on the other hand were still warring when he forced himself to break the awkward silence that had settled between them. But what could he tell her, which would sound neither like a reproach nor like an abdication, like the admission of a fault he did not acknowledge?

“I…” he started before stopping, pointing to the exit. “I’ll go and see Felipe. He certainly needs...”

He did not say what exactly, but that didn’t matter. Victoria got the gist. He needed some company, he needed his spirits to be lifted, he needed his mind to be taken off things.

He needed to see someone who believed in him.

He needed his father.

He needed to know that some people thought he was innocent. _Knew_ he was innocent.

Victoria stared at her shoes, then she looked up and handed Diego the handle of the basket she was holding.

“I prepared... I thought... He... perhaps a little snack...”

He stared at her, a little surprised. And seeing in Diego’s eyes this surprise at a goodwill gesture from her almost made her hurt.

“Well...” she went on, “I thought it would perhaps please him? Would cheer him up a bit?”

Diego still stared at her for a moment, almost... doubtful? _No,_ she thought, _just surprised_.

“A peace offering?”

He had meant to say it in a mellowed tone of voice, acknowledging the step she was taking towards him – or rather towards Felipe? – and had even tried to slip in a small smile, his own peace offering. But then why did it come out in this bitter, almost crusty tone, sounding like irony? Almost like an accusation, a reproach? And why did the benevolent smile he intended to give her turn out to look like… a snide smirk?

 _Brilliant!_ he then reflected bitterly. Not only was he annoyed with the world in general since the day before and on rather cool terms with Victoria in particular since the morning, but also he now was quite displeased with himself!

Victoria for her part was visibly affected, and stared down at the basket she had envisioned as an olive branch between Don Diego and herself, without daring raise her eyes.

He could see that he had obviously hurt her, and immediately regretted his slightly too sharp retort.

But soon Victoria’s equally feisty temperament resurfaced and burst the bubble of guilty conscience and self-disappointment that had contained it theretofore. How dare he brush aside her token of goodwill like that?

She was about to let out some strongly-worded retort and looked up at Diego to stare at him right in the eyes when she saw in them the usual gentleness she nevertheless wasn’t expecting to find there at that moment. A hint of a conciliatory smile was playing under his moustache and he finally laid his hand on the basket handle, next to Victoria’s.

The surprise she felt at this sudden change stopped short the rant she was about to serve him.

But soon, Diego’s expression changed again. Seeming to change his mind he quickly withdrew his hand from the handle and his features became once more neutral. He looked away to the door, pursed his lips a bit, and cleared his throat as if embarrassed.

He then seemed to make up his mind and suggested:

“What if you come and bring it to him yourself? He will certainly be glad to know that you think of him...”

 _I take a step_ _, he takes a step..._ Victoria thought. Appreciating this sort of ‘outstretched hand’ from him to the full, Victoria accepted it and followed him, relieved that although neither of them had made any apology or admitted their faults, their friendship seemed to be willing to take the (slow) path of mending and reconciliation.


	14. Ch 14

Don Alejandro had been right. Sitting on his bunk, bent forward with his back hunched, his head in his hands, Felipe did not really look like the epitome of hope and confidence in the future, to say the least.

However this seemed to change as soon as he saw Diego, Victoria noticed. He had probably seen some movement out of the corner of his eye because when they entered he raised his head and looked at them to see who was coming in.

The moment he recognised Diego, Victoria could have sworn that something just lighted up in Felipe’s eyes. Granted he remained seated, but he straightened his back and shoulders somewhat, the weight of whatever seemed to bear down on these suddenly appearing to be slightly less heavy, less crushing. As if through his mere presence here, Diego was taking some of it on himself? Was helping him carry it, helping him bear it?

Sure enough, since the morning Victoria had noticed the invisible burden weighing upon Don Diego, smothering his usual joviality and carefree attitude. As though within the space of one day he had changed, had been transformed. Undeniably, with this story his transition to his new role as a father was unfolding in a rather harsh context.

Now, if she had expected that for a while things would be a bit… awkward… between the two of them, each one trying to find his footing and groping for his new role regarding the other and in the meantime not quite knowing where they stood, she however couldn't fail to notice that it was obviously not the case. Felipe was looking at Diego as if he held the solution to every problem – and particularly to the one that worried him at this precise moment – and it was very naturally that he had sought and found his eyes, seeming to instantly calm down somewhat.

Then he got up and got closer to the bars when Diego reached the railings of his cell. Without uttering a word, the two men joined their hands through the bars, Diego’s large hands wrapping Felipe's in a protective gesture. Fatherly, already.

He still hadn’t uttered a word, but after all was it necessary? They were gazing intently at each other, and so much seemed to pass through these two looks that Victoria felt confusedly in the way, like an outsider witnessing a private, intimate family scene. And for that matter, she remained discreetly in the background.

Of course she already knew that Felipe could express himself through signs, but never before had she realised that he could also do it without any gesture, without speaking, without even moving. Nor that Diego was capable of it too.

And even less that they could both ‘read’ such a silent and motionless language in someone else. And what exactly were Felipe and Diego able to read in other people’s eyes, then? In _her_ own eyes? But, by doing so, weren’t they ‘undressing’ the others a bit, in a certain way, without their knowledge nor their full consent?

Those two seemed to come out of their silent conversation when Felipe turned his gaze on Victoria, seemingly noticing her only then. He looked at her, the beginning of a sad smile blooming on his lips, and greeted her with a slight nod.

Releasing his hands, Diego told him:

“Victoria insisted on bringing you something to eat. Her cooking is far better tasting than that of the garrison's canteen…”

While saying this, Diego half turned toward her, slightly unblocking the way to the cell as a silent invitation for her to get closer.

She did so with a hint of hesitation, and handed Felipe the basket handle. But of course the bars were too narrowly spaced for the basket to pass through the railings.

“We will ask Sergeant Mendoza to give it to you,” Diego told him.

A small and uncertain smile played on Victoria’s lips, who didn’t know what to tell Felipe given the circumstances, given her own awkwardness towards Diego and her shame concerning all that he didn’t tell Felipe about. To spare _him_ , of course, but thereby sparing _herself_ too.

Felipe was looking at her, with gratitude, with a bit of joy in the midst of this ocean of worry spread in his eyes, with... relief? He laid his hands on hers and squeezed them slightly.

Victoria, as for her, was still niggled at by her guilty conscience for having not immediately believed in her young friend’s innocence. But now, facing him and his intense and acute gaze, she had no doubt left. Which further increased her own feelings of retrospective guilt and discomfort at seeing such a trust in the young man's eyes.

A shadow then probably passed in her own look, as Felipe’s appeared to turn a little cloudy, a slight mist of uncertainty seeming to float in the depths of his eyes. Did he thus always see everything? Was he able to see up to the depths of her soul, to guess what she was feeling, what she was thinking? What she _had_ thought?

This idea made her quite uncomfortable. Had Felipe always been this observant? She had never thought about it, but now she felt that almost nothing seemed to escape him, to escape this discreet but searching gaze. Had it always been so? Undoubtedly a consequence of not being able to hear, of having to rely only on what he saw to understand the world around him, the people around him.

She had never really thought about it, but what if rather than having one sense fewer, Felipe had actually one sense _more_ than ordinary people?

Thinking back at what she was trying to conceal from Felipe – for his own good, she tried to convince herself of that – a very slight shudder ran through her at the idea that he could guess it. A shudder that of course did not escape the young man’s perceptiveness. He peered at her even more intensely, a jot of questioning in his eyes.

And of course, she stiffened even more and the smile she wanted to offer him to cover her discomfort was a bit strained, which resulted in an increase of Felipe’s suspicion.

Diego seemed to sense – or see? or understand? – what was going on and he took Victoria’s place near his son, trying all at once to divert his attention from her and perhaps also to serve as a 'shield' to protect her from the young man’s decidedly disturbing perceptiveness. For which she was grateful to Diego.

She put the basket on the floor.

“You'll see,” Diego told Felipe, nodding his head toward the basket, “I'm sure Victoria’s cooking will bring back a smile on these lips.”

While saying this, he pointed a mischievous finger at his son’s face while forcing a smile on his own, then he grasped his hands once again through the bars.

But Felipe’s face was wearing again the dejected expression he had when they came in, and which his whole body reflected. His shoulders slumped, his back hunched slightly, his look faded and died out; then, removing one hand from his father’s gentle grasp he gestured vaguely toward the basket on the ground, adding to this an almost imperceptible shake of his head and a brief frown.

“You have to eat, Felipe!” Diego gently admonished him.

Victoria didn’t know whether he had just said that he was not hungry or that he did not want her basket – which would have hurt her more, but wouldn’t have been totally undeserved – yet she got the gist of it. And agreed with Diego, he should not let himself waste away. And anyway, good food was a real morale boost... eating whets the appetite, they say.

“Promise me you'll eat something,” Diego insisted, pointing to the basket. “Victoria is worried about you, about your well-being. And so is Father.”

Felipe looked at Victoria with a mix of questioning and gratitude in his eyes, but then he gave a pretty weary and disheartened shrug, after what he went back to his bunk and sat down – or rather slumped – onto it.

“Felipe, you must not give up hope!” Victoria finally stepped into the conversation. “Nothing is lost…”

Was she trying to convince herself? Things were looking pretty bad for him, unless the stranger finally regained consciousness. And indeed, hadn’t Victoria herself... She shook her head slightly to get this oh-so unpleasant thought out of her mind.

Felipe signed a quick question that Victoria didn’t understand but which meaning Diego grasped apparently perfectly.

“Nothing new so far,” he replied. “But her condition does not worsen. I’m confident.”

He accompanied this answer with a slightly strained smile, a bit forced. To Victoria, who had seen his concern of these past hours, it was obvious that Diego was mostly trying to reassure Felipe, or at least not to aggravate his anxiety.

“And Victoria is right,” Diego went on, “nothing is lost. I’m confident,” he repeated as if to convince himself. “The alcalde has decided to be more careful and measured this time. An official preliminary inquiry in being set up and the case is still currently under examination. He seems to have learned his lesson over José Riva’s case as well as Jacinto Santana’s, and is willing to take his time before setting a lawsuit and getting legal proceedings in gear. That will give us time to hear what the victim has to say about this incident if– _when_ she wakes up, and also in the meantime to call upon our–”

But Felipe interrupted him with a quite dejected gesture of his arms, along with a weary shake of his head. A sign that Victoria would interpret as “drop it”. Obviously he did not believe in it anymore and was on the verge of giving up hope. Don Alejandro had been right, his sprits were very low.

“Felipe...” Diego adjured him.

There was in his voice such a mix of urging, scolding, tenderness, frustration, worry, gentleness… of fatherly love, all in all, that Victoria regretted Felipe couldn’t hear it to appreciate all these nuances to the full. The vibrato Diego just had in his voice when he uttered this simple name moved and stirred Victoria to the depths of herself. This man loved his son more than himself, no one could doubt it when hearing this. Even though he hadn’t officially become his father yet. Diego had already been loving Felipe in such a fatherly manner for years and would get himself chopped into tiny pieces for him if need be, she was now sure of it.

And she began to envy Diego. Having someone to love to such a point... unconditionally... irrationally... To be transformed by it...

She could not imagine anyone else but Felipe or Don Alejandro for whom Don Diego would come out of his usual stillness, would disrupt his quiet routine, and even risk his life.

And suddenly, without fully understanding why, she started to envy also Felipe and Don Alejandro.Being able to bring about such a change in Diego, and especially such dedication and such self-denial was not given to just anyone, according to the general opinion about him: kind and generous beyond possible but not exactly known for boldly facing adversity and standing up to it, nor for immoderate bravery or a tendency to willingly put himself at risk.

But there, it was plainly obvious that for Felipe, he would throw himself to the lions if it could save him.

She had never seen Don Diego driven by so much passion, so much determination, so much vivacity. Nor by so much energy.

“Felipe…” Diego repeated.

He held out his hands through the bars, as a call accompanying the one he had just spoken aloud but which Felipe couldn’t hear, and the latter finally got up and came slowly closer to grasp his father’s proffered hands. Again, Diego squeezed Felipe’s hands with his own as a sign of the unreserved support he was giving him.

“I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to get you out of this. And so will Father. You're not alone. You won’t be alone ever again.”

Once again, Victoria felt almost amiss. This was a very intimate family scene she was witnessing here, with Don Diego having a heart to heart talk with Felipe, almost baring his soul. And yet he did not seem embarrassed to do so before her. In a way she had always felt that Felipe was the one person in the world with whom Diego talked in the most free and most sincere manner. To whom he opened up the most? Was it because of the boy’s silence? Or because he had partly raised him?

Once again, she felt a little touch of envy, even though she couldn’t fully explain it. There was however absolutely nothing enviable about Felipe’s current position!

“Be patient, Felipe,” Diego exhorted him. “I know it’s not easy for you to remain locked up in there, not being able to do anything, feeling powerless, but thus far the alcalde has not taken any decision. Which is a rather good thing, after all; so far so good. I assure you we are doing everything we can to get you out of here _lawfully_ , through legal channels, and thus restore your honour so that you get it back as unsullied as before.”

Letting go of Felipe’s hands and slipping his arms through the bars, he encircled his shoulders and hugged him as best he could in spite of the railings between them. From her observation point in the background, Victoria saw Felipe respond in the same way by enfolding Diego in his own arms, hugging him tight like a shipwreck victim clinging to a buoy.

After some very long seconds the two men released their grip on each other but didn’t let go completely of the soothing touch, Diego’s hands slowly sliding along Felipe’s arms.

“But don’t worry,” he told him slowly, gazing at him right in the eyes. “I’m ready to swear that if things don’t unfold as we hope they will, Zorro wouldn’t let anything unfortunate happen to you and would risk everything to come to your rescue. He would not allow anyone to touch a hair on your head. Have faith. Zorro will not let you down.”

Victoria saw Felipe nod very slowly, his eyes never breaking away from Diego’s even for a split second.

 _Yes,_ Victoria thought. _Don Diego is right. Zorro will not allow a young man to be wrongfully convicted._ He’d save Felipe.


	15. Ch 15

They silently walked side by side on the short way back to the tavern. Don Diego had a stony and inscrutable face, as if shutting himself to the rest of the world around him; and Victoria still didn’t know what to tell him to melt the thin crust of ice that constantly built up between them at every opportunity, every silence, as soon as it was only the two of them left, without any third party to act either as a pretext for conversation or as a buffer between them.

That was not unlike this layer of frost which in wintry weather forms at the surface of still waters, when there is no ripple.

She ventured a sidelong glance to watch Don Diego out of the corner of her eye. But what she saw on his face was not a visage anymore, it was a mask. Static, fixed, nothing transpiring from it: it was impossible to tell what expression it sported.

He was probably still resenting her a little bit, but mostly he refused to let show his deep worry over Felipe: despite the reassuring words Diego had told the young man, Victoria knew that if the still anonymous traveller did never regain consciousness, if ever her fever worsened and got the better of her physical resistance, it would not be that easy to prove Felipe’s innocence. And as, to top it all, he would also have to answer for a charge of homicide...

Victoria winced. She had to find a more pleasant idea to wipe this one from her mind.

Her thoughts went back to Felipe, to his lucky star which had put Don Diego on his path more than ten years ago. When he had just discovered horror, violence, war, as well as the loss of his parents and of all that had been his world so far. Sometimes a light comes on and shines in the darkest of night and despair...

Don Diego loved Felipe beyond possible, and was forcing himself to be strong for him, not to let anything show. This commanded admiration, especially coming from a man who was usually not particularly renowned for his strength of character. It was all about motivation, apparently. A matter of finding the right stimulus. Diego’s strength was perhaps just lying deeper than everyone thought, but perhaps was it also all the more forceful and determined since it was concealed and quiet, almost lying low.

Not for a single moment he had doubted. Herself, on the other hand... She still had a little trouble fully forgiving him the cold outburst and the hint of condescension he had aimed at her a just few hours ago, but she could understand that for his part he still resented her for having a more wavering trust in Felipe than he had himself.

Damn, why on earth was it so hard for her to offer a sincere apology? To say it aloud? She was not used to openly acknowledge her faults to someone she had wronged. The words had decidedly quite some trouble forming in her mouth and remained stuck at the early stage of a mere idea. Perhaps he’d manage to read her mind so that she wouldn’t have to go through the painful stage of the _mea culpa_?

Or instead of due apologies, maybe some kind word would smooth the rough edges somewhat, for a start?

“Felipe is really lucky to have you,” she finally said to start the conversation.

He slowed his steps, looking thoughtful. His face changed, she saw him muse on what she had just said, then a faraway look clouded his eyes, as if he was looking at something inwardly, in his mind or his memories ;he finally replied:

“No, _I_ am lucky to have him. You cannot imagine how much. He is... the best thing that life has given me.”

He paused a moment while he stopped walking and stood still, then he finally looked at her in the eyes.

“Do you believe in Divine Providence, Victoria?”

She didn’t know what to answer. Did she believe in it?

“Sometimes It hides in the most understated recesses, in the most discreet crannies,” he said, “and sometimes in circumstances that yet would seem the furthest from what might make us think about It. When everything goes wrong, when you think that all is lost, that nothing will ever be right again... When It crossed my path I’ve not been able to recognise It, as anxious as I was to find someone to whom handing over this little boy I had just found on the remains of a battlefield. I was mourning my uncle, I was discovering the horrors of war, and Felipe for his part had just lost his father, his mother, his hearing and his speech within a few minutes two days before. Not the best circumstances to rejoice over meeting a new face, over sheer happenchance. Nor to acknowledge that this happenchance might not be one, after all.”

He paused, his eyes staring so far away into space that Victoria could have sworn he was actually reliving this scene.

“Even when I finally brought Felipe back here with me I didn’t any more recognised that Providence which most definitely knows how to hide. To me then, it had still been sheer chance. Serendipity, a _lucky_ coincidence, but a coincidence all the same... Only a few years ago did I understand. I think sometimes Providence hides in order not to frighten us. If back then I had known that, by deciding to take with me this lost, deaf, mute and terrified little boy I was going to become a father, the very young man I was then might have taken to his heels. I would have left him in the first orphanage I happened to find and would have carried on in my own merry way and with my life as it was before. And that would have been the biggest mistake of my life...”

It was so rare to hear Don Diego truly open up that Victoria didn’t dare interrupt.

  “It would have been the biggest mistake of my life, the biggest failure, the worst waste for me, and today I wouldn’t even know anything about it. That’s the saddest thing, all in all: missing something by a hair’s breadth and never knowing about that. Thankfully I didn’t miss Felipe out. Perhaps that’s what Providence is... God incognito, sneaking among us to improve one’s life and make it better...”

“God with a mask?” Victoria asked with a smile. “I wonder what Padre Benitez would think of your interpretation.”

“I’ll make sure to ask him...” Diego replied thoughtfully. “But yes, you're right: chance is perhaps God’s mask...”

Never before had she had this kind of discussion with Don Diego. She was beginning to understand why he had so loved attending salons and other circles of thinkers and brilliant minds back then in Spain. It felt... stimulating. And he surely missed it. But anyway, if _he_ seemed to easily discourse on these topics, Victoria, as for her, felt she was reaching her own limitations in that matter and was afraid she couldn’t measure up to him if he steered the discussion and these abstract notions further and higher.

Another reason why he was so fond of Felipe? Was the boy able to follow him up to these... ‘heights of mind’, despite his deafness and muteness?

Victoria felt a little frustrated, although Don Diego did nothing to make her feel inferior nor patronised her. He was obviously a superior and very cultured mind, and yet he didn’t flaunt it, his mild and reserved – even a bit… _tepid?_ – nature making him prefer discretion to ostentation. Decidedly, the woman who would manage to put a ring on it – if indeed such a woman did exist – would be very lucky and have gained a true treasure.

Now what of that woman he had once briefly talked about – or rather _mentioned_... The one he loved – or at least _had_ loved, he'd never talked again about her since then – in secret without ever daring to declare his burning affections... Surely she was up to him, was his match in matters of the mind...

Anyway, if ever this mysterious woman was now ancient history to Diego, it would certainly take a woman of that kind to make his heart beat faster. With him, heart was probably closely related to brains.

Such a woman, if only she existed, would indeed be very lucky, Victoria reflected.

But enough digression and rambling about Don Diego’s very hypothetical love life: what concerned her was his friendship. _Their_ friendship. And after that substantive little discussion, it seemed to be on a better track, on the path of healing. It was indeed like an open wound covered with a scab, the flesh was perhaps still raw underneath, it pricked and tugged a little at the skin, but at least the wound had stopped bleeding and the itching was a sign that the skin was working to rebuild itself. If nothing too brisk were to happen, Victoria was now confident that their friendship would gradually heal.


	16. Ch 16

Don Alejandro had gone home. Diego, as for him, was about to spend a second night without getting any sleep. So, since he wouldn’t sleep at all, he may as well enable Victoria to do so. After all, this stranger was nothing to her, and Felipe was a young man of her acquaintance, but not a relative of hers! So yes, it was _his_ duty, _his_ responsibility to watch over Felipe’s best interests, and therefore to see to this woman’s recovery.

And here’s why he found himself here, sitting at the patient’s bedside in the middle of the night, or going back and forth from her bed to the window where he could see the stars and the crescent moon. The same stars and the same moon Felipe was probably seeing too at the same moment if, as Diego feared, he wasn’t sleeping either...

He took out his pocket watch from his waistcoat and went back to the bedside table on which a tallow candle was lit. In the flickering light of the flame he could read the time: almost half past one. Not a sound outside. Neither inside. The tavern was plunged into quietness. Next room, right on the other side of the wall he was standing so close to, Victoria was probably peacefully sleeping.

 _Ahem_... Diego cleared his throat. Better not think about Victoria in her bed just a few feet away from him... just behind that wall...

At this thought and while he was totally unaware of it, he had softly put his hand flat against the wall he was now facing, as if picturing in his mind’s eye what there was to see through it... Realising this, he quickly withdrew his hand, as if the wall was burning hot. He turned back to the stranger’s bed and his eyes settled on the armchair Victoria had brought for him, so that he’d be almost comfortable while he watched over the patient.

He had a grateful thought for her, especially as she had improved it with a few extra cushions and blankets to soften his posture, while herself had spent the previous night sitting on a mere wooden chair.

As he sat back down and resumed reading the book he had brought with him to kill time and prevent himself from sleeping, the stranger – this mysterious L.A. – began to grow restless. It started with a few low moans of discomfort that Diego tried to alleviate by dabbing her forehead with a cloth dipped in cool water.

After a quarter of an hour she seemed to calm down, but the respite was short-lived. After a few minutes of quiet, the moans resumed, a bit stronger, a bit more uncomfortable. Her features tensed and she began to toss and turn from side to side in her bed.

Diego shook her gently to try to wake her up, then a bit more vigorously, but to no avail: she got even more agitated, seemingly struggling both against what was currently occupying her unconscious mind, whatever it was, and now against Diego.

— Nnnn… Nnnnno! she let out weakly.

Pressing his hands against her shoulders Diego pinned her gently but firmly, but she kept unconsciously shaking her head on the pillow, keeping mumbling some faint ‘no’ to an invisible interlocutor against whom he could neither fight nor defend her, for the simple reason that this unknown enemy wasn’t physically in the room but only in her unconscious mind.

“Señorita,” Diego called trying to wake her, “Señorita!”

But she remained unconscious, merely calming down a bit. After all, perhaps the presence of someone at her side and a voice trying to break through the mists of her nightmare had some soothing effect on her?

Now that she was a little less restless, Diego could lay his hand flat on her forehead: it was still warm and sweaty, but the fever didn’t seem to have worsened.

Diego then thought that, even if there was no reason she’d understand what people would be telling her right now, he had to try. After all, even if it didn’t do any good in the end, it wouldn’t hurt either! And all this silence was beginning to weigh down on him.

“Señorita, please, come back to us!” he tried. “A young man is in great need of your help. He’s counting on you. _I_ am counting on you.”

She didn’t react.

“And your kith and kin... Think of those who love you and whom you love... Hold onto this, I beg you!”

Still no reaction.

After a quarter of an hour and two chapters of his book, Diego’s reading was disturbed by... he pricked up his ears... by... yes, that was really what it was! Very light snores!

He looked up from his book to settle his eyes on the woman: yes, the faint snoring sound was right in step with her breathing, with the rhythm at which the blankets were rising and falling over her chest. He could even see that her lips were slightly parted on the left. She seemed to be sound asleep, but peacefully so.

He arched his eyebrows: snores! Not very ladylike…

Stupidly enough, he then reflected, never before had he imagined that women too could snore sometimes… especially when sick.

Smiling at his own ingenuousness, he turned his attention back to his book.

One hour later, she started to grow restless and to mumble in her sleep again. Her current nightmare did not seem any more pleasant than the previous one, quite the contrary:

“Nnnn... Wha’re you… Let g’of–”

While Diego was wringing out the wet cloth he was about to lay back on her forehead, she mumbled again:

“Nnnn… Don’ shoot’...”

 _Shoot_ _?_ Diego suspended his gesture. Or wasn’t it rather _shout?_ But what on earth was she dreaming about?

He mopped and dabbed her face once again to cool her down, after what, satisfied to see her calm down, he sat back in his chair. It seemed to him that her forehead was a little less hot, her cheeks a little less red. But wasn’t it just because the water was cool and the candlelight was dimming through a weakening of the flame?

Ensconced in his armchair he resumed his reading, lulled and reassured by the rhythm of his patient’s still heavy but more regular breathing.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

_Oww..._ _Ouch... Gnnn ... What’s that light?_

Grrr... had someone opened the curtains? But who? Or had she forgotten to close them when she went to bed?

In any case, she felt the bright morning light assault her eyes through her closed eyelids. And just that little bit of brightness was apparently enough to give her a throbbing headache.

Oww... why was she having so much trouble opening her eyes?

And then there was her shoulder... her left shoulder felt very painful...

She tried to turn her head away from the source of this bothersome light to shield her eyes from it and sleep a little longer, but to no avail.

And... how strange! Wasn’t usually her bedroom window on the other side of the bed? So where did this light come from?

Pfff, really, she wasn’t very clear-minded this morning. Headache, confusion... and yet she had not overdone the bottle the night before... from what little she remembered, anyway.

By the way,what exactly did she remember?

Herlast memory...She searchedher mind, racked her brains, dug, insisted...

It was a blur. Anyway, she now had to get up, there was much to do today. And a trip... yes, that's right, a trip to prepare. Los Angeles. The mission priest’s invitation. Things still seemed blurry, but a little less so.

Well, well, enough with idly lying in, she had to get up. If the daylight was that bright, then it was probably already quite late in the morning, and she was certainly late herself. If only her head could throb a little less!

Slowly, carefully, she opened her eyes. Gradually, she grew accustomed to the light suffusing the room.

She then turned her head to the left.

Goodness! There was a man in her bedroom. And in an armchair at that, not in her bed.But more importantly: an _unknown_ man in her room! He was asleep, his mouth half-open…

She set her eyes on her surroundings. _Oh..._ she then thought. Correction: _not_ her bedroom.

Hence the window on the wrong side, at least some things were beginning to make sense.

She turned her attention back to the unknown Sleeping Beauty: slumped in an armchair next to her bed, with his head hanging to the right side – he would have a sore neck when he awakes, for sure! – and his legs uncomfortably half-stretched out as best as he could, the poor man seemed far too tall to be sleeping in a chair.

Anyway, the stranger was still asleep. And, she then noticed, he was even snoring! Not very loudly, she reckoned – otherwise she would have woken up much earlier, she had a very low tolerance to snores – but still! And to top it off, she noted not without some amusement that a slight trickle of drool was running from the corner of his mouth and was creating a damp patch on his blue jacket.

Well-made fine clothes, she noticed. He looked well-groomed and rather dapper. Mid-thirties, perhaps? Yes, probably.

But when it came down to it, _who he was_ was for now just a detail. No, for now the real question was: _where was she?_

Oh, and also: _how_ _did she get there?_ Well, _he_ would certainly have the answer to that question. Slowly, carefully, she got her right arm out from under her blankets and reached out to the man. Rather tentatively at first, she patted his knee in an attempt to rouse him from his slumber. Seeing that it proved ineffective, she made her tapping motion a bit more insistent.

Meanwhile, now that she was more awake the haze of sleepiness was lifting, and some things began to become clearer and to come back to her mind. Los Angeles, the trip... she wasn’t home anymore, she had already left for her trip and had even travelled a good deal of the way.

Yet she did not remember arriving. Was she even in Los Angeles?

But what was this place? this bedroom?

How did she get there?

Who was this man beside her?

Oh, and... now that the headache was subsiding a bit... why was her left shoulder hurting that much? And her right thigh?

At this thought, snippets of memories came back to her mind. Pictures, mainly.

A young man... A knife... A scorpion... A fall from a horse... the knife in the young man’s hand... his hands on her shoulder... sharp pain... venom... pain... oh _Dios_ _!_

She shook the man’s knee with renewed vigour. Who was he? Where was she? How did she get there? What was the extent of her injuries? She had questions, he would have answers.

Or so she hoped.


	17. Ch 17

_Gnnnn..._ what was that? _Hmph..._ what the...?

Diego confusedly felt that something was repeatedly nudging his knee.

A dog nuzzling him? His mare Esperanza claiming some petting or a bit of attention? Or was it Tornado?

 _Grrrr..._ Whatever it was, this was becoming insistent. Had Felipe not taken care of Tornado?

This thought seemed to awaken something in his dozing mind... Tornado...? No. No… So what...?

_Felipe_ _!_

Of course, Felipe!

Diego finally opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times to get used to the light, though he had his back to the window, and after a second to focus his eyesight, he made out an anxious face in front of him, an arm reaching to him, and attached to this arm, a white hand that was rather vigorously shaking his knee.

He started: everything came back to his mind.

 _Awake_ _!_ She was awake! Finally!

He opened his mouth to speak to her – to enquire about her condition, ask her name, ask her to tell him her story, he didn’t know exactly what he was going to say – when in a low and raspy voice, she got ahead of him:

“Ah, well, about time!” she exclaimed somewhat laboriously.

Not understanding immediately what she meant, Diego remained dumbfounded for a moment. She then went on:

“Do you know for how…”

She paused toclear her throat, she seemed to be hoarseandhad trouble controllingthis voice that, after a lastscream somewhere by the sideof the CaminoReal, had not been usedfor twowhole days.

“...how long I’ve been trying to wake you up?” she finished.

Diego couldn’t help but note the unintentional irony of her comment, given the circumstances. He finally gathered his wits to answer her tit for tat:

“I could say as much about you, Señorita!”

She looked around, discovering again the room she was in.

“What’s this place, Señor? Señor...? ”

Realising that she didn’t even know how to call this man she paused, voluntarily putting a very obvious question mark in her voice.

“De la Vega,” Diego provided, immediately understanding her unspoken query. “If you’re wondering about this particular room, right now we are in one of the bedrooms of this pueblo’s tavern. But as your question probably refers more generally to the pueblo itself, well, you’re here in Los Ángeles.”

He paused to let her absorb these bits of information, which she appeared to be doing thoughtfully.

“Los Ángeles …” she repeated in an undertone to herself, frowning and looking pensive.

This was all well and good, but Diego had only one thought in mind: Felipe. What exactly did this woman remember? What would she be able to relate and report to de Soto? And when would she be able to do so?

“Señorita...” Diego then resumed speaking, not knowing how to bring the subject without appearing to be either too rude or too insensitive, “how are you feeling? You gave us quite a fright!”

“I...” she closed her eyes as if to shut out or at least dim the bright morning light. “Hurts...” she went on. “My shoulder hurts. And my leg. My head a little too. A bit tired.”

She was speaking in snippets of sentence. Her mindseemed to be havingsome trouble stringing twoor threecoherent thoughts together.

“Allow me...” Diego said while placing his hand on the young woman’s forehead without waiting for said permission to do so.

Her fever seemed to have faded out.

“You’ve been unconscious for quite some time,” he explained apologetically as if to justify such an incongruous familiarity. “You were delirious, feverish, we were unable to wake you up. We were worried about you.”

 _And not just_ _about you,_ he thought, keeping it to himself.

“I…” the woman began, then she paused.

Suddenly, as if completely awakened by an idea that Diego didn’t immediately get, she quickly sat bolt upright in her bed, and then with a sudden movement she folded her blankets down to below her knees. Decency would have demanded that Diego should turn or at least look away, but the quickness of her gesture didn’t give him time to do so.

The young woman looked at her right thigh, or rather stared at the wound spread across it.

“I’ve been stung by a scorpion,” she remembered, her eyes fixed on the reddish mark that contrasted so much with the white of her skin in this very intimate area.

“I know,” Diego replied, filled with awakening hope when he noted that her memory seemed to come back to her mind and to confirm Felipe’s account. “Rest assured, your body seems to have fought the venom quite well, and infection seems to be now contained and in check.”

“Had my thigh not been lacerated, there wouldn’t be any infection at all,” she grumbled.

 _Philistine_ _!_ Diego sighed inwardly. _Doesn’t_ _she_ _realise_ _Felipe may have saved her life?_ He kept his thoughts to himself: it would be no use antagonising her, quite the contrary. He needed her to recover her complete memory about the events, and to get Felipe out of jail as soon as possible.

“I'm glad you're getting better, Señorita. Señorita...?” he asked, turning to herself the unspoken question she had aimed at him just a minute earlier.

“Oh, yes, please forgive me, the unusual circumstances make me forget about the most common courtesy,” the young woman realised. “That’s unforgivable of me; really, where are my manners!”

She then introduced herself, politely bowing her head in some sort of upper-body curtsey :

“Luz Alacen,” she stated. “I am grateful, Señor de la Vega, for the good care you apparently kindly took of me while I was unconscious.”

“Don’t mention it, Señorita, that's only natural,” Diego said, bending to pick up his book that had fallen to the floor while he was dozing.

He saw señorita Alacen squint at it, trying to decipher its title. _Elementos de_ _Orictognosia,_ by Andrés Manuel del Rio. Typically the kind of reading everyone around here considered pointless and boring, Diego sighed inwardly. Well, at least for those who had any idea what this book was dealing with, that is!

 “An interest in mineralogy?” he then heard señorita Alacen ask him.

Helooked up at herin surprise. To his utter amazement, nodding toward the book she went on:

“It's not anymore what’s most exhaustive on the subject, according to what I’ve heard; but still, it is said to be an excellent book, a reference work, or so I’ve been told…”

Diego stared at her, dumbfounded, but he quickly recovered. Whatever, after all. What mattered was her testimony. What mattered was first and foremost to exonerate Felipe and clear his name.

“Señorita Alacen, please be kind enough to forgive me if I appear a bit abrupt to you, but can you tell me exactly what you recall of the events that occurred just before you fainted?”

“I...” she answered a little surprised, “…to tell you the truth I had hoped myself that you would be able to tell me how I got to this tavern, which, needless to say, is hardly the kind of establishment I usually patronise.”

Diego then felt obliged to stand up for the tavern’s reputation, and more particularly for its landlady’s through it:

“I can assure you, Señorita, that this establishment is most respectable. It is as much an inn for passing travellers, such as yourself Señorita, as a tavern for us Los Ángelinos seeking a good meal or a refreshment. And there is no other hostelry in the pueblo, nor any other inn where to eat.”

Señorita Alacen vaguely felt that her reservations about the reputation of such establishments had somehow hurt her Good Samaritan, and she wondered why. Was this tavern his? Perhaps, after all, as this was where he had watched over her. However, this man had more the appearance, language, diction – and the name! – of a caballero than of a tavern manager.

“Please forgive me if my words hurt you, Señor, I beg you to believe I didn’t intend to, far from it. And I should not prejudge what I don’t know, this is not a sensible and serious mode of reasoning, one that would be worthy of the name.”

“It's already forgotten, don’t worry,” Diego replied. “And to answer your question, you have indeed been stung by a scorpion while you were riding along the Camino Real, not far from Los Ángeles. You’ve been brought to the pueblo to get you examined and tended to by our doctor; and since he prescribed rest but opposed to any new journey, albeit short, in view of your weakened condition, we’ve settled you in the tavern’s quietest room. Does this answer your questions?”

Luz nodded.

“Excellent!” Diego said. “Now, again forgive me but I must insist, Señorita: I really need you to tell me your last recollections of the incident...”

The Señorita frowned and then stared into space, seemingly searching her mind.


	18. Ch 18

Frowning, a far-away look in her eyes, looking focused on her memories, señorita Alacen seemed to be fighting the last mists of sleep and blackout in an attempt to mentally go back to the Camino Real, thereby travelling within her own mind.

“The scorpion... the scorpion stung me... Before that... I had fallen… fallen from my horse, that is... My horse!” she suddenly exclaimed.

“It’s here too, at the _cuartel_ ; you can rest assured,” Diego told her, hiding his annoyance with this interruption as best as he could.

“But he’s been wounded in the leg, he was-”

“Don’t worry,” Diego interrupted to reassure her seeing she was becoming agitated, “he’s been bandaged, tended to, groomed, and the soldiers are taking care of him. I myself have seen him, he’s getting better.”

Diego, despite his frustration, understood quite well the concern this young woman had for her horse. If Tornado was injured and he couldn’t go and see him for himself... Yes, he could understand.

“So,” Diego said to steer the conversation back on the track it shouldn’t have left, “you fell. And after that...?”

“After that… I remember that I felt much pain, I had fallen on my shoulder. I think my head also hit the ground, but I didn’t lose consciousness right then. But then the young man – ah yes, I’ve forgotten to tell you there was a young man – the young man moved his hands all around, but he said nothing. In retrospect I think he wanted to indicate that he would try to help me, but at the time I didn’t understand.

“He is deaf and mute,” Diego merely informed her in a neutral voice, not wanting to influence her judgment of him.

“Ah,” señorita Alacen simply answered. “The latter therefore explains the former.”

This seemed to be a mere piece of information to her, a logical explanation for a phenomenon she had noted, nothing more, whereas to most strangers or newcomers this was what defined Felipe. What he was limited to, what he came down to be in their eyes. ‘The deaf-mute’, ‘the deaf-and-dumb boy’.

“Anyway,” she went on, “That’s when the scorpion stung me; but seeing that, the young man didn’t find anything better than the folk remedy that consists in slashing the bite, thereby spilling the venom throughout the area and mixing it with my blood.”

“Yet this is the best way to expel the poison before it had time to take effect...”

“Oh, so you too are a believer in this myth!”

“Myth?” Diego exclaimed.

“Well yes,” she explained, “the best course of action in such circumstances is to remain calm, not to thrash about to slow the diffusion of the venom, and _not_ to slash through the bite, to prevent the venom from quickly mixing with the blood; and also to prevent infections of the wound. Because given the state of the knife the young man used after it fell down, the blade covered with dust from the ground, it's a sheer miracle that gangrene didn’t set in my leg!”

That was a bit rich, Diego thought to himself. Felipe had helped her, had tended to her wounds, and she was complaining about it! Taking a deep breath, he thanked God for having some extensive experience when it comes to keeping his mouth shut and not replying too sharply, because Felipe needed her help and Diego was well aware that exchanging rather strong words with the only person who could clear his son’s name might slow his release.

“Yet it is a well-tried technique that has saved the life of more than one victim,” he replied, remembering his own past encounter with a snake.

Involuntarily, he let his gaze wander to his forearm, where under the blue fabric of his jacket and the white cambric of his shirt he knew there was a discreet white scar that testified of his own use of this method.

“Nothing proves that these people would not have recovered, even without it,” she replied, “and that’s not to mention those who died of it. Recent studies have highlighted the risks, and established for instance that the Californian scorpion’s sting was harmless in two thirds of cases; other studies, that when the venom was injected into the muscle its effect was much slower than if it was suddenly mixed with the blood, as well as that slashing the area without any disinfection, without even passing the blade through a flame, entails twice as much risks of developing an infection.”

She paused to watch her vis-à-vis, who seemed both sceptical and annoyed. Annoyed of being contradicted? Perhaps, but he also seemed slightly impatient. Impatient for what? Luz truly didn’t have any idea.

“Mind you, these are not my words,” she said, “these studies have been published in journals and bulletins of several Faculties of medicine, including _Ciudad de Mexico_ ’s. Well... this last study dealt specifically with snakebites, but I guess it can also apply to scorpion stings...”

Throughout the senorita’s monologue, Diego had been speechless. He was asking for a testimony to get his son out of jail, he hadn’t expected a lecture on Mexico’s latest medical publications given by some young woman he didn’t even know...

But now was not the time to discuss medico-scientific theories.

“Anyway,” he told her, “the boy in question cut through the sting...”

He was beginning to get tired of having to constantly steer the conversation back on track.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I tried to stop him, of course, first by trying to explain that he should not do that, then by struggling and thrashing around to try and get free of his grasp, but he was stronger than I was, especially considering that I was hurt... After that...”

She paused.

“After that he got started on my shoulder,” she explained, wincing. “At the time... at the time here again I struggled, I didn’t want anyone to touch me there, you see it was hurting so badly! Even though I now know that he only wanted to help, I think that back then I didn’t even realise I had dislocated it when I fell. It’s only when I felt it get back into its socket that I realised... Heavens, how painful it is!”

She winced again. So did Diego.

“It was as if... as if someone thrust a white-hot knife in my shoulder, and kept moving the blade inside the joint. And then... then...”

“Then...?” Diego repeated.

He was holding his breath: up to this point her testimony was going in the right direction, but any word from her, any misinterpretation of Felipe’s intentions or actions could backfire on the young man.


	19. Ch 19

Señorita Alacen thought hard, racked her mind, but the strange feeling of the head of her humerus going back in place, the sudden understanding of what had happened to her shoulder and above all the intense, burning pain seemed to be the last things her memory had recorded.

 _Then_ _?_ the man sitting at her bedside had asked. _Then_ _?_ she repeated inwardly.

“Well... nothing,” she finally answered. “That's it. Nothing else. Nothing more.”

 _The pain_ , Diego thought. The sharp pain combined with venom and above all with the blow to the head had finally made her faint. And then blood loss, venom, infection and fever did the rest and had kept her unconscious.

“Nothing more?” Diego repeated.

“No, sorry, nothing more after that. Why…?”

Not answering her question right away, Diego insisted:

“So the young man made no attempt to… to harm you on purpose, but only intended to give you assistance, is that right?”

Quite puzzled, Luz looked at him, wondering what he was trying to get at.

“Yes, he meant well,” she answered. “Regardless of the outcome...” she added, staring at her still uncovered reddish and lacerated thigh.

Seemingly finally realising the incongruity and lack of decency of the situation, she pulled the blankets back up over her legs.

But anyway Diego hadn’t been paying attention to it anymore for quite some time. He had other things on his mind.

“This young man, Señorita, is called Felipe. He’s my son,” he revealed at last, “and now he's in dire need of your help.”

“Your son?!” Luz exclaimed wide-eyed, interrupting again. “Good Heavens,” she added, scrutinising Diego from head to toe, “exactly how old are you?”

 _Oh_ _,_ Diego thought. _Yes, I suppose_ _I'll have to get used to that reaction, coming from strangers to this pueblo..._

“This is an adoption,” he explained, a bit annoyed at having to justify himself.

Not that it was any of her business,but on the other hand he understood the woman’s stupefaction. It was legitimate. And in a sense, he felt quite relieved to see that despite his first – and discreet – white hairs, he could still pass as rather ‘young’... or pretty much so... He just hoped that Victoria shared this opinion.

“Ah,” señorita Alacen simply answered in the same tone of voice as when he informed that Felipe was a deaf-mute.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Above all, Luz loved to understand. She never felt so annoyed than when she was facing something, a situation, a problem, a phenomenon she didn’t understand. Señor de la Vega’s explanation perfectly cleared up the puzzlement and question mark that had lit in her mind when he told her that the young man who had appeared to be what... maybe just ten or fifteen years younger than he was himself... was in fact his son. Granted she had to admit that she had paid little attention to the young man’s – _Felipe_ , right? – appearance, let alone to his features, and also that she was now not seeing much of Señor de la Vega’s since he was sitting with his back to the light...

Well, their family stories didn’t matter, after all. Anyway, didn’t he just tell her that the young man needed her help?

“I don’t really know how I can be helpful to your son, Señor, however if it is in my power to be of assistance to you both, I can’t imagine that I’d shirk it. Be assured that I only wish to be of help to my neighbour. Within the realms of my possibilities, of course.”

But Señor de la Vega kept silent – as if he’d gone mute too, she thought out of the blue. She chastised herself for this unspoken comment and swept this rather unkind and disrespectful remark away from her mind. She then incited him to explain what he expected from her:

“What can I do for you then, Señor, or rather for him?”

That was one more thing she’d like to understand, since she didn’t see at all what this young man could need her for.

Señor de la Vega appeared to actually have something to tell her, but at the same time he seemed quite reluctant to do so. Luz didn’t understand this apparent reluctance either, even to the point of vaguely beginning to worry.

“So,” the man went on, “the shouts, calls and pleas you aimed at Felipe, unaware as you were that he was deaf, had the only purpose to prevent him from carrying out the first aid gestures he was trying to perform on you?”

“That's exactly that,” she confirmed, still a bit lost and wondering what the hell he was trying to get at. “At first, because I knew what he meant to do with his knife, and I maintain that this is not the appropriate treatment…”

He seemed to hold back and keep to himself a reply he was certainly itching to shoot back at her, probably realising that this was not the time to argue over this particular point.

“And next,” she went on, “because I was dreading the pain I’d feel if he touched my arm. I fought him instead of letting him set my shoulder back in place,which ultimately only made things more complicated for him and even more painful to me, come to think of it...But how... how canyouknow I screamed and pleaded?”

Still with some reluctance, he explained:

“Señorita, a military patrol was passing by not far from there at the same time. These soldiers brought you the pueblo after…”

Oh no, now he stopped short again!

“Well,” she said as if to fill the awkward silence, “I’ll therefore thank them in person as soon as I can. In the meantime, would you please convey my thanks to them?”

He nodded absentmindedly. He had something else in mind. Something else to say, obviously, and his hesitation was beginning to seriously worry Luz.

“Actually, you may have a chance to do it yourself this morning, or so I hope, if ever you’re able to get up so soon after coming round. Otherwise I will ask the alcalde to come here himself, or to send his sergeant to speak with you...”

 _The alcalde?_ she wondered, in utter amazement.

“But what on earth about, exactly?” she asked a bit too sharply. She was beginning to get rather worked up by his tiptoeing around. “Will you eventually tell me what you _daren’t_ tell me?”

He stood up suddenly. _Dios,_ he was tall! Especially since she herself was sitting, leaning back on her pillows.

It looked like he’d finally decided to talk, and in a both firm but soft voice, he told her:

“Señorita, I beg you to forgive the hesitancy I’ve been having so far as well as the trouble I have to address the topic I’m about to broach, but... well, please forgive me in advance for daring to address such a topic with a lady… and I confess I don’t really know how to do so with the required delicacy that such a subject calls for...”

“Golly!” she exclaimed with a smile in an attempt to lighten the mood, “this time you’re really beginning to worry me!”

But he seemed to remain perfectly impervious to her irony, and she suddenly feared that this interruption did nothing but stop him in his tracks.

“The soldiers... heard your screams... and also what you told Felipe… pleading with him not to touch you... and when they saw you, you were already lying unconscious... And Felipe was pinning your shoulder down...”

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Diego had stopped and was staring at her intensely, waiting for her to understand what he wasn’t saying. Yet it didn’t seem to happen and he knew he had to go on:

“And since your... um... your clothes were hitched up over your uncovered legs... well, because of the sting of course, but...

Again he looked at her. She still seemed as confused as before.

“Well?” she asked, apparently still in the dark as to what exactly he was trying to get at.

 _Goodness gracious_ _!_ Diego thought quite dismayed, was she possibly that naive and ingenuous? Suddenly, Diego felt terrified of maybe having to explain certain things to a young señorita. Things that were absolutely not his to explain. Having _this_ conversation with Felipe all those years ago had already been... well, awkward and embarrassing enough…

But just thinking of having to have _it_ with a young lady...

Maybe he should call on Victoria for help?

 _Coward!_ he then called himself. No way! He really did not want that on top of everything else his ladylove could take him for some prudish and blushing maiden.

So rather than seeking refuge in Victoria’s pocket and tying himself to her apron strings, he took a deep breath to work up the courage, and began:

“Well... appearances were very deceptive at the time… to outsiders and... and... they could suggest that… give the impression that… that Felipe’s intentions... that he was trying to force himsel–”

“WHAT?!”

Shesat bolt uprightin her bed,the hem of the blanketcrumpled in her clenched fists.

“No! NO!” she exclaimed. “Not at all! Señor, I assure you that your son has made absolutely no attempt of that sort!”

Diego couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief at the idea that after all, señorita Alacen knew exactly what there was to know about what he had been trying to hint at since the beginning of his very embarrassed explanation, and that he therefore wouldn’t have to explain anything to her with regard to that particular matter.

Señorita Alacen, for her part, apparently mistook the reason for his sigh.

“I assure you, Señor, that your son's behaviour towards me remained most honourable,” she said hastily, “and that apart from this incident with the knife which is just a regrettable misjudgement–”

“I know, Señorita,” Diego interrupted, “I never doubted Felipe. But I thank you for defending him against these accusations with so much... vigour. This is indeed precisely what he needs you for.”

She raised her eyebrows at him quizzically.

“As I said,” he went on, “the soldiers don’t exactly have the same faith in him and they have mistaken the scene they happened to witness. My son has been put in jail, locked in a cell, and is suspected of these serious wrongdoings. I beg you, Señorita, just a few words from you would clear up this misunderstanding as soon as possible, and then we could all finally put this unfortunate incident behind u–”

He had not even finished his sentence when señorita Alacen sprung to her feet and, still barefoot, reached the door. In doing so she discovered that she was limping due to her right leg, but that did certainly not stop her in her tracks: she leaned against the wall with her right hand and opened the door to the inside passageway overlooking the main room of the tavern, while asking Diego:

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Meanwhile, she didn’t seem to notice at all that she was wearing nothing more than a thin white nightshirt, and one that was too short for her at that!


	20. Ch 20

Victoria was polishing her counter, making the most of the fact that it was still early and there were few consumers in the tavern yet. She was far better rested than the day before and in a better mood – to the great relief of the few customers present – thanks to Don Diego who had taken the night-watch at the stranger’s bedside, allowing Victoria to sleep like a log.

At some point in the quietness of the early morning, the sound of a door and footfall could be heard upstairs and Victoria looked up the stairs. Up there she discovered an unusual sight, especially for an establishment as respectable as hers: a woman wearing nothing but a mere nightshirt, her long hair down and tangled, was walking barefoot and apparently hobbling to the top of the staircase, leaning with her hands on the wooden guardrail that overlooked the ground floor.

Victoria barely had time to recognise Don Diego’s stranger – how so, _Don Diego’s?_ she corrected herself – before the woman reached the stairs; her right leg then seemed to give way and she half-collapsed before she caught hold of the banister with both hands, wincing. In three strides Diego ran to her and caught her, sliding his arm around her waist to lift her up and thereby pressing her more than lightly against his own chest.

“For Heaven's sake!” he exclaimed, “don’t try to walk alone! You should have waited for my help. I don’t want you to overestimate your strength!”

 _Awake!_ Victoria thought, relieved at first for Felipe – and for this woman too. Only... only seeing her half naked and wandering her tavern’s corridors dimmed her joy somewhat. And in the presence of a man, at that! Admittedly, it was only Diego, the last man on earth who might take an interest in... well… but still! And her establishment had a reputation and standards to preserve.

Anyway, this notwithstanding, she was mainly relieved to see that the woman had regained consciousness and that her life was no longer at stake. The good care provided first by herself, then by Don Diego, had paid off... even if nature and luck certainly had also their share in this recovery. Admittedly, Don Diego’s knowledge, even though it didn’t equal of course Dr. Hernandez’s, had certainly played its part here. This girl could be grateful to him. Truth be told, out of concern for Felipe hehad spared no effort either to nurse her back to health, spending most of the past day – and _night_ , too! – looking after and watching over her.

The stranger, for her part, had still not fully straightened back up and was still partly leaning on Diego’s chest.

“Don’t even try to go down these stairs on your own!” he then ordered her.

Victoria saw her nip her parched lips, hiss a bit and finally try to unglue herself from Diego.

“I'm not totall–” she began, looking a little annoyed and setting her right foot down on the first step.

But when her weight went from her left leg to the other one she winced again, screwing up her eyes, holding the banister with both hands so tight that her knuckles went white, inhaling sharply through her flared nostrils.

Not thinking twice and without further ado, Diego slid one arm under her knees, the other over her shoulder blades, and lifted her before she collapsed. Then, carrying her like a child to be put to bed, he began to go down the stairs as if she weighed nothing.

Although it was already spotless, Victoria then resumed polishing her counter with greater intensity: Don Diego was definitely enjoying far too much playing nurse...

In Diego’s arms, with her legs raised and left exposed by Victoria’s too short nightshirt that came down only to her mid-calf, the girl unwillingly displayed much of her legs to anyone who could see. Thank God, only Victoria was facing the stairs at the time. Diego, for his part, did not even seem to note the incongruity of this situation.

Once downstairs, he put the girl down; still limping, she slowly headed to the front door without looking back to him. Victoria then rushed to her:

“Señorita, you're awake, finally! How are you feeling?” she asked, taking her hands in her own.

The young woman, a bit dazed, looked at her but didn’t seem to react.

“Are you sure you’re in a fit state to walk?” Victoria went on. “Don Diego,” she added, turning to her friend, “you shouldn’t have let her get up... Señorita, but… but where are you going to?”

The young woman, looking stunned by this avalanche of questions, couldn’t answer and turned to her good Samaritan, a both puzzled and inquiring look painted all over her face.

“Señorita, allow me to introduce Señorita Escalante. She owns and runs this tavern, and she too watched over you while you were unconscious, hence her concern for you. Victoria, let me introduce our guest, Señorita Luz Alacen.”

Señorita Alacen politely bowed her head and shoulders, and was even about to give a hint of a curtsey when the effort it asked her thigh intensified the pain she was feeling there, and it sharply reminded her of her injury.

Victoria nodded as well and added:

“Welcome to Los Ángeles, Señorita. In spite of the rather… chaotic… circumstances of your arrival here.”

“Thank you for your welcome, Señorita,” Luz replied, “and for taking care of me. I'm sorry for any inconvenience the peculiar circumstances of my presence in your tavern may have caused.”

“All's well that ends well, that’s the main thing,” Victoria assured her.

“Not quite, yet,” Diego cut in, reminding them that Felipe’s situation wasn’t completely sorted out yet.

“Yes you’re right,” Señorita Alacen told him, “let's go.”

“Where...” Victoria began, “where do you think you’re going like that?”

With a general gesture, she illustrated her point by indicating her guest’s state of dress.

“There’s no time to lose,” the señorita replied, “Señor de la Vega’s son is wrongfully imprisoned as a consequence of a terrible misapprehension. I have to clear up this misunderstanding with the authorities as soon as possible!”

Meanwhile, Don Diego seemed to finally realise that the young woman was wearing nothing else than Victoria’s nightshirt, since he immediately took off his own jacket to chivalrously wrap it around the señorita’s shoulders, for the sake of modesty and propriety.

 _Mmm_ , Victoria couldn’t help but note with narrowing eyes, Don Diego was being _very_ gallant today... But the result was still only remotely seemly...

“And you're barefoot!” Victoria then added.

Diego looked downwards and saw that he had failed to notice that other detail.

“I’m taking care of it!” he said, leaping up the stairs two by two to the bedroom he had just left.

Meanwhile, Victoria took things in hand:

“Take at least some time to get changed, Señorita, I'm sure Felipe won’t hold it against you...”

But señorita Alacen was unable to stay put:

“Señorita, I will _not_ let an innocent young man rot in jail one more minute. Not if I can help it! I couldn’t look at myself in a mirror if I put the concern for primping myself before his release and-”

“Well, that’s not what I meant, Señorita!” Victoria exclaimed. “But you can’t cross the plaza in a nightshirt! It’s not very proper.”

“Oh...” simply said Señorita Alacen who appeared to notice only then that she was… well… rather scantily clad.

They both saw Diego come downstairs holding the señorita’s dusty shoes in his hands. She then shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly and, slipping her feet into her shoes while tightening Diego’s jacket around her chest, she told Victoria:

“Never mind, no time...”

“Let me at least...” Victoria started before pausing to untie her apron.

She tied it around Señorita Alacen’s waist. It was only barely more seemly. She then grabbed a large shawl behind the counter and tied it too around the woman’s waist, this time hiding the back of her nightshirt. Well, now the result was a little better.

“Fine, thank you,” Señorita Alacen hastily said turning round and walking away. “Cm’on, let's go!” she added for Diego as she headed for the door, leaning on the tables with her hands along the way in order not to put too much of her weight on her right leg.

Diego caught up with her and, rather than just offering her his left arm so that she could lean on it, he slid it around her waist as he took her right arm to raise it behind his neck and over his shoulder. And so, her pressed against him, him holding her waist, Victoria saw them leave her tavern.

Felipe’s predicament was about to be sorted out and to have a happy ending, so she should feel elated. And she _was_ , she reflected, she truly was. She really felt relieved for him, relieved for Don Diego. And yet for some unknown reason, she also felt far less relaxed and not really in as good a mood as a few minutes before. Weird.

Without fully realising it, lost as she was in these reflexions, she had resumed rubbing her already immaculate counter with renewed vigour, at the risk of wearing a hole in it…


	21. Ch 21

Ignacio de Soto was filling in some tedious paperwork regarding the charges against that damn deaf-and-dumb boy – pushing pencils in three or four copies, not the most exciting part of his function, he sighed inwardly – when Don Diego just barged into his office bellowing something about the boy. And without even knocking, at that!

To make his disapproval of such manners known of him, de Soto did not even raise his head from his papers.

“Don Diego,” he interrupted as he dipped his pen in the inkwell not looking up from his page, “I have much to do… I know that’s a notion that’s totally unfamiliar to you, but I therefore suggest that you should come back later. We can set up an appointment if you–”

“Señor Alcalde,” then interrupted a female voice he didn’t recognise, “I am well aware that you must be a very busy man but I beg you to hear me out.”

Startled, Ignacio Soto finally looked up and the sight he discovered only accentuated his initial surprise. There, before him, stood a woman indeed, but she was in an attire rather... motley, to say the least... unusual... and which Ignacio was not quite sure it was entirely decent.

Just imagine: a man’s suit jacket far too large for her – undoubtedly Don Diego’s! – which sleeves she had not even slipped on but that she was keeping tightly wrapped around her chest, a white apron and a patterned shawl tied around her waist! Besides, underneath it all, she did not seem to wear any real clothes, but just... just a mere long shirt! Hum, not that long, he noticed as he stood up to greet the newcomer – he might be alcalde and very busy, he nonetheless made a point to be courteous to ladies of apparently quality, even dressed like a scarecrow! Her nightshirt didn’t even come down to her ankles and Ignacio’s eyes unintentionally paused on these bits of naked calves displayed to his sight.

He quickly snapped out of it and of his initial surprise, only to have it replaced by an equally shocking second one: _my, my…_ Don Diego seemed to be doing pretty well for himself, the little sneak, the sly little fox! De Soto would never have thought that he had it in him… but de la Vega had apparently been playing his cards close to his chest! And what’s more, she was obviously rather young to boot... and was clinging to him for dear life!

_But no,_ the alcalde thought immediately, Don Diego certainly didn’t barge in his office without even knocking in the sole haste to gloat about his latest – and perhaps one and only – conquest, and not even dressed again at that! The poor sod was certainly pretty pathetic albeit rather annoying, yet not _that_ pathetic! The mere idea was preposterous.

“Señor Alcalde,” the young woman went on, “I’ve come here as soon as possible in order to dispel a horrendous misunderstanding and to end a terrible injustice.”

“What do you mean, Señora? Señora...? Señorita...?”

“Alacen,” she completed. “Luz Alacen, at your service, Señor Alcalde.”

“Señora, I am your humble servant. Ignacio Soto, alcalde of the pueblo de Los Ángeles,” he introduced himself in an impeccable salute before bowing and leaning forward to kiss her hand.

There was in the way this young woman was speaking something that sweetly sounded of Spain, like a reminiscence of the Motherland. _Aaaah_ _, Spain_ _!_ de Soto sighed inwardly. He was delighted to find in her, in her words as well as in her intonations, the purest Castilian he’d heard in a very long time in these remote colonies of the New World, except for himself and for the diction Don Diego had brought back from his years in Madrid.

During this exchange of courtesies, Diego had been tapping his feet on the ground, champing at the bit. Seeing this the young woman, who had broken away from him, told de Soto:

“Señor Alcalde, the young man who is being held in your gaols...”

She paused for a short while, which was enough for de Soto to figure out exactly _who_ this woman was.

“He didn’t...” she went on, “he is... I assure you that he never intended to do me any harm. He didn’t assault me, Señor Alcalde, all this is nothing but a terrible misapprehension, I swear.”

Ignacio then threw a very suspicious glance at de la Vega. Then, slowly, he looked back at the señora or señorita – she hadn’t specified anything about this point, he remembered – and said:

“I am immensely relieved, _Señora_ , to see that you are feeling much better and are finally out of danger. However, I’d like to be sure that your condition allows you to–”

“Rest assured, Señor Alcalde, I feel perfectly fine,” she lied, “and my memories of what happened right before I f-... uh... I... passed out came back to my mind intact and unaltered. This young man...”

She then turned to de la Vega.

“ _Felipe_ , right?”

Don Diego nodded.

“Well,” she then said, “Señor de la Vega’s son has had no inappropriate gesture toward me nor did he try to… to attack me. He just wanted to help me, and then everything unfolded horribly wrong and the next moment your soldiers arrived and misread the situation. Not that I hold it against them, if anything it is entirely to their credit as soldiers and decent men that they came to my rescue in the situation they believed they were facing.”

Ignacio had listened to the young woman without interrupting, only barely repressing a disdainful pout when she mentioned de la Vega’s ‘ _son’_. Apparently Don Diego had not been completely honest with her about the boy, and notably he failed to tell her that he was just some mere servant whom he had taken an unreasonable liking to.

The alcalde therefore looked at Diego more suspiciously than ever. And some parts of a sordid puzzle began to assemble in Ignacio de Soto’s mind.

The lady’s attire... the way Diego had been holding her pressed to his him just a minute earlier... his jacket wrapped around this woman... de la Vega’s haste to have her speak to the alcalde... Sepulveda having to go back to the garrison the night before and therefore leaving them one to one, together...

_Well well_ _!_ de Soto thought, Don Diego seemed to have infringed his apparent vow of celibacy and had probably scarified himself a bit to secure a testimony that would be favourable to his deaf-mute, thinking that if he seduced and satisfied the lady she would be willing to say whatever he wanted her to... unless, taking advantage that her mind was just emerging from the coma and was still easily influenced, he hoped she would believe the version of the facts a considerate lover would suggest to her clouded memory, and then repeat it.

Not that de Soto had ever before imagined that de la Vega could be able to fully satisfy the ladies, especially considering his lack of... well, _energy_ , to begin with, but also of known… _achievement_ under his belt in this area – _quite literally_ , indeed! At least for what the Los Angelinos were aware of… But after all, the poor boy had to have at least one or two hidden talents in life and couldn’t be worthless at absolutely everything... And yes, for his deaf-mute Don Diego was certainly ready to exceptionally make a bit of a personal effort and to… well, to _lay_ himself on the line, so to speak. The line of duty.

Not that it must have been very displeasing to him, by the way... there were indeed much more unpleasant duties! Admittedly, the lady certainly wasn’t the most beautiful woman in Alta California, but all the same she wasn’t downright repulsive either; and according to what her rather... well... _light_... attire left to imagination, she didn’t look too badly shaped either, quite the opposite!

_Oh_ _God gracious!_ Ignacio quickly snapped out of it. He had just caught himself undressing with his eyes a witness he had to interrogate. Damn de la Vega, this was entirely his fault! While focusing on the señora or señorita’s face – and her face _only_ – he told her:

“All right, I’m all ears: tell me what happened then, according to you.”


	22. Ch 22

And she told the tale. The fall, her screams, her shoulder, the pain, the scorpion, the knife, in short, for the second time in less than a quarter of an hour she recounted the same story.

De Soto listened without interrupting, looking at her seriously, occasionally casting a glance at Diego.

On second thought, he noticed her Castilian sometimes seemed tinged with something a bit more... slightly... well not exactly _foreign_ , but less Madrilean than he had thought at first. Here and there a word... a pronunciation... vaguely reminded him of something else. But whatever it was, it was still related to his years in Spain, he could swear it.

“In a nutshell,” she concluded her account, “all this young man can be blamed for is a poor judgment and the lack of the most fundamental caution. He’s only been too rash and too self-confident; too sure of himself, of his abilities and of what he had been taught,” she then said, throwing a sideways glance at Diego which did not escape the latter’s notice.

Which did not escape de Soto’s either, incidentally, who told her:

“Señora Alacen, please be sure that I’m more than willing to believe you, yet I can’t help but wonder about... let’s say about the clarity of your memories. You have, after all, lost consciousness and even been delirious in your sleep, I'm therefore afraid that the details and information Don Diego has certainly not failed to give you – with the sole concern to reassure you about your situation and your condition, I’m sure of it – might have… overlaid... your real memories of–”

“I’m not easily influenced, Señor,” she cut him rather coldly.

“Ignacio...” Don Diego growled under his breath.

De Soto then changed tactics, trying a more frontal approach, although it displeased him to attack the first person in a very long time who had brought him a breeze of this Spain that he missed so dearly:

“Let’s grant that’s the case, Señora... But then... then I cannot help but notice that the suspect’s... uh... _father_ remained alone with you for a while... and without any witness to what can have been said during all that time...”

He left his sentence unfinished, leaving the ellipsis float very heavily in the air, full of innuendos.

He saw señora Alacen’s face transform, from worried it became outraged. Speechless, breathless and wide-eyed she took a step back and then, with flared nostrils, a hard look and clenched jaws she shouted indignantly:

“Are you accusing me of bearing false witness?”

“Ignacio,” de la Vega cut in, "you really go for any length to–”

But Soto was not listening. He had to admit he wasn’t too proud of himself. The case, that just the day before he thought was solid and held water, was now deflating clue after clue, testimony after testimony. He tried to play his last card:

“But if one also takes into account the de la Vega’s substantial wealth...”

While Don Diego clenched his fists out of the rage caused by that outrageous accusation, the woman exploded:

“I'm not for sale, sir, and neither is my word!”

Under the effect of effort and emotion, she staggered and swayed slightly, and leaned one hand against the wall for support. De Soto and Don Diego immediately rushed to her, but before they even had time to offer her their assistance she straightened up to her full height, stiff and proud.

“I’m alright,”she assured, “I’m alright, I can perfectly...”

She didn’t say exactly _what_ she could, but the general idea was clear enough: _I can_ _very well keep going by myself, I don’t need you anymore, thank you very much._

Anyway, this short interlude changed de Soto’s original idea as to the kind of... _nightly activities_... he had suspected Don Diego had shared with her: she was obviously not fit enough for anything of that sort yet. And then... and then the more he listened to her, the more he believed that woman. In spite of himself.

De Soto thought hard. A miscarriage of justice towards the de la Vega – even only through some flunkey – would not be good for his career. _If this was indeed_ _a miscarriage of justice,_ an insidious little voice whispered inside his head. He sighed:

“Would you be willing to sign a written statement that would repeat exactly and point by point the story you just told me?”

“I’m even ready to write it myself and right now, if this can get this poor young man out of jail as soon as possible. He is innocent of what he is accused of, I swear!”

While saying that, she reached for the quill and the inkwell. At the same time, a very loud rumbling could be heard, and she suspended her gesture, blushing.

“ _Madre_ _de Dios_ _!_ ” Don Diego exclaimed, "but what was I thinking? You must be starving after all this time!”

She lowered her head a little, grudgingly admitting:

“Well, truth be told, I wouldn’t say no to a bowl of soup with a few slices of ham. Or some chicken,” she added, regaining some colours at this idea. “Although… a nice rare grilled rib steak, instead...” she then said, salivating in anticipation.

“Ah, I very much doubt Señorita Escalante has put any of this on today’s menu, I’m sorry,” Ignacio told her.

“Really?” the stranger wondered. “How is it that...? Yet... yet it’s indeed an inn she’s running!

“It is, Señora, indeed it is,” de Soto said, “only... today is Friday...”

“Not at all!” the young woman replied. “Today is Wednesday!”

 _What?_ Ignacio wondered. _Could it be_ _that de la Vega failed to..._

He hadn’t finished his thought when Don Diego told his new protégée:

“No, Señorita, the alcalde is right: today is indeed Friday.”

“No! she insisted. No, today is Wednesday.”

De Soto took it upon himself to explain to her what de la Vega had obviously failed to tell her:

“Señora, you’ve remained unconscious for almost two whole days...”

“TWO DAYS!” she exclaimed, leaning back against the wall. “No, that’s impossible, I’m sure I would be aware of it if...”

“Señorita,” Don Diego then told her, “I assure you that today is indeed Friday and that you have remained unconscious for two days, with fits of delirium and high fever. We were very worried about you.”

The young woman shook her head in disbelief.

“No,” she said, as if to herself. “No, you are mistaken. Or… or for some reason I don’t understand, you're trying to pull some nasty prank on me, to make me believe that... that…”

“It certainly wouldn’t be a first from Señor de la Vega, that’s his usual trick. This wouldn’t be unheard from him, would it?” de Soto then said, perfectly remembering the dirty trick Don Diego had played on him a few years ago by making him believe he had been sick for several days, when he had actually slept only a few hours.

De Soto threw a meaningful look toward Don Diego who just shrugged. Meanwhile the young woman, who certainly didn’t understand anything about this exchange of innuendos, seemed to be slowly accepting the reality of what they both asserted.

Suddenly she became very agitated:

“But then...” she said, aghast, “then... Oh my God! You mean that this young man has been in jail for two whole days! Oh _Dios_ _!_ But… how awful!”

She became even more agitated as de Soto and Don Diego tried to appease her. Meanwhile, Ignacio noticed that this little something in her language he had previously perceived was more pronounced when she was distressed.

“Two days!” she repeated. “Oh dear, the poor boy! Señor Alcalde, we have to get him out of there as soon as possible, you must...”

She paused. Ignacio saw her raise a hand to her forehead, stagger and then slightly collapse. De Soto and Don Diego both rushed to catch her in time and sat her on a chair. _Catalan!_ Ignacio suddenly realised. Her Castilian was tinged with a very light hint of Catalan...

“Señora...” Ignacio called her, “Señora! Are you feeling alright?”

“She's right, Ignacio,” Diego said, “you can’t let Felipe–”

“First things first, de la Vega!” de Soto hissed. “Can’t you see she’s having a relapse?”

“Don’t even think I'll forget to remind you–”

“All right, all right, Diego! We’ll release your deaf-mute, don’t worry! Only, I’ll have you know that since people are not condemned as quickly as before, well, believe it or not they cannot be released with just a snap of the fingers either! There will be even more documents to write and forms to fill in for this!”

De Soto, despite his relative defeat, was lapping it up: it was still very enjoyable to turn the tables on Diego, to turn de la Vega’s own arguments against him and have them backfire on him!

“For now the most pressing matter is to take care of your... your new _friend_ , Diego. Bring her back to Señorita Escalante’s tavern.”

Reluctantly, Don Diego nodded and helped the young lady to her feet. But as she wasn’t standing strongly enough on her legs anymore, he scooped her up in his arms once again. As he was crossing the threshold, de Soto called out to him:

“Diego! You... you’ll let me know how Señora Alacen is doing, will you?”


	23. Ch 23

_Madre_ _de Dios_ _,_ he was at it again!

Victoria couldn't help this silent but slightly irritated thought when she saw Don Diego enter her tavern carrying señorita Alacen in his arms.

Again.

 _Honestly!_ _It was really getting to be a habit with him!_ Anyway, he seemed to be developing a taste for it.

Victoria immediately chastised herself for these decidedly hardly charitable thoughts: if Don Diego was carrying this young woman, something bad certainly had happened…

 _My God_ _,_ Victoria thought, angry at herself for her initial fit of temper, _had she fainted_ _again? Or... or worse?_

Worried, she rushed to the woman.

"Don Diego," she asked, "what's wrong? Is she...? What's...? What happened to her? How is she?"

Swamped with the torrent of her questions, Diego didn't immediately answer. Then, noticing Victoria's growing anxiety, especially faced with his silence, Señorita Alacen herself reassured her, although in a feeble voice:

"I'm fine, Señorita, everything's all right, don't worry. Señor," she added for Diego's benefit, "you can put me down now, I assure you."

"You had a dizzy spell, you've just woken from two days of fever and unconsciousness, and all this on an empty stomach on top of things."

"I'm feeling better, you can put me down."

"You need to rest now," he objected.

"And I'm going back to bed straightaway, I promise," she replied. "Or at least I will as soon as you put me down. Please," she added in a gentler voice.

"Yes Don Diego," Victoria cut in rather sharply, "you may put the señorita down, now."

"I won't put her down anywhere but in bed!" he stated flatly.

"Oh! Alright, alright, make it quick, then" Luz told him, "we're being looked at!"

She finally seemed to take the full measure of things, of appearances, of her attire, of the fact that she was in a man's arms – and a mere stranger's at that – and of the way this situation could look to third parties.

Victoria, as for her, had already taken it a long time ago:

"She's right, Don Diego, my tavern is a very correct house of good repute and I intend it to remain so! Therefore I'd rather you put Señorita Alacen in bed as soon as possible and you come back downstairs immediately, or else I'll go upstairs to get you myself!"

Seeing that Diego was finally beginning to slowly realise what she was implying, she confirmed:

"Otherwise you might set tongues wagging and get yourself talked about..."

Wordlessly, Diego gave a slow nod and began to climb the stairs, señorita Alacen still nested in his arms. Halfway up, he stopped and turned back to Victoria to ask her:

"Victoria! Would you please be kind enough to take a bowl of broth and a plate of whatever the daily special is up to señorita Alacen?"

"The fish stew isn't ready yet, Don Diego, but as soon as it is, I will!"

Luz's head then emerged from Diego's shoulder and in a somewhat feeble voice she told her:

"Thank you very much, Señorita. And please believe that I'm sorry about the inconvenience and trouble all this is making for you and your business."

"Don't mention it, Senorita!" Victoria replied. "The disturbance is not that big, I assure you. Your only concern right now should be about getting some rest and recovering, don't worry about anything else."

Diego had barely resumed climbing the stairs when Victoria suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, wait!" she called.

She grabbed something under her counter and walked over to them. Diego then saw that the something in question was a small bouquet of wild flowers, which she handed to Señorita Alacen.

"Here," she told her, "this is for you. You've just missed Corporal Sepulveda who came here just a few minutes ago to ask about your condition and give you this," she added with a knowing smile.

"Who?" Luz asked. "Who is he?"

"He's one of the soldiers who found you and brought you to the pueblo," Diego clarified for her, a bit annoyed for the delay in getting her to bed. "He's the one who brought you to the doctor's office."

"And he's also come several times while you were unconscious, keeping vigil at your bedside with either me or Don Diego," Victoria added.

"I think that, above all, he was mostly watching me on the alcalde's orders," Diego added, in a slightly irritated tone of voice, "to make sure I wouldn't… prompt Senorita Alacen, suggest her what to say when she finally wakes up."

"Oh you're being unfair, Don Diego! Victoria scolded him.

"Yes," Luz added, "the alcalde's initial wariness was after all rather legitimate, although rather hurtful at the time, and anyway he finally acknowledged my testimony as truthful!"

"No," Victoria said, "I meant toward Corporal Sepulveda! He seemed to be sincerely worried for you... it was even rather sweet, indeed."

"Charming," Diego said with the air of someone who didn't find it charming at all. "Perhaps we could postpone this chat?" he suggested in a slightly gruff tone of voice. "She really has to get some rest right now."

"Very well," Victoria replied, a bit miffed to see her nice enthusiasm dampened by Diego.

Luz took the bouquet, asking her:

"Señorita, once I am rested, I'd really like to bathe or at least wash a bit. Would it be possible to have then a large wash tub and some hot water taken up to my room?"

"Of course Señorita, and I'll come up to help you with it. With your wounded shoulder and leg, you will have some trouble to do it by yourself, as well as to get dressed."

" _Muchas gracias,_ Señorita, that's very kind of you. I'm very lucky, incidentally: ever since my arrival in this pueblo, I have met only nice people, obliging and compassionate, eager to help me: yourself Señorita, this Corporal Sepulveda, Señor de la Vega here, and even his son, who only wanted to help..."

"But you're forgetting the alcalde," Diego told her. "He's the exception."

"Don't be unfair," she replied. "I don't know what your quarrel with him is, but I have to admit that, after the initial suspicion he is bound to by his office, he was nothing but courteous and considerate."

"Believe me Señorita," Diego retorted, "you don't know Ignacio de Soto..."

"Don Diego is right, Señorita," Victoria said. "The alcalde is not a pleasant man, far from it. Wait until you really know him and judge him on his actions, you'll see... if you stay with us long enough for it, of course, but you'll certainly want to set off again as soon as you've recovered enough to do so.

"I have some business to attend to here in Los Angeles before I ride back," Luz said.

Strangely, Luz suddenly had the impression that, for some reason she couldn't understand, Señorita Escalante seemed somewhat quite eager to see the back of her as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience my condition is causing to you, Señorita," she added a little chagrined by her hostess's suddenly cooler attitude, especially since the latter had been so charming thus far, "but I'm afraid I will have to outstay your welcome one more day. Of course I will pay each centavo of what I ow–"

"Anyway," Diego cut her, "right now you're not fit to ride, and won't be for several days at least. Neither is your horse, for that matter. But that's enough chat for now: I'm carrying you up to your room. Off to bed!"

And walking the talk, he resumed climbing the stairs, Victoria following him very closely, hot on his heels, tight-lipped.


	24. Ch 24

By the end of the afternoon, sitting under the tavern’s porch, Don Alejandro was anxiously waiting for his son who had gone to the alcalde’s office to inquire about Felipe’s release.

He had just finished his pitcher of wine and ordered a second one when Victoria put before him a jug of what looked definitely not like wine.

“You’re mistaken my dear, this is not my order...”

“I know Don Alejandro,” she replied, “this is not your order, and no, I am not mistaken.”

He slowly looked up at her, one eyebrow arched in silent questioning.

“Don Alejandro,” she told him, “you wouldn’t want for Felipe to find you tipsy, should he be released tonight...”

“Humph! ‘cause you think de Soto will listen to Diego? I don’t even know why I let him convince me not to go in there myself...”

“Perhaps to prevent you from taking Felipe’s place behind bars?” she retorted tit for tat. “Especially after several pitchers of my excellent Rioja...”

“It’s good, indeed,” Don Alejandro conceded.

“It’s good but it can knock you quickly if you’re not careful. Beware, it’s a bit treacherous...”

“Don’t worry, I still know exactly what I’m doing.”

“And it’s precisely for you to keep on knowing what you’re doing that I brought you this pitcher of barley water instead: it is just as refreshing and it keeps the head cool...”

Don Alejandro pursed his lips in a small disdainful pout.

“Pshaw!” he let out, “I’m no longer a kid, Victoria, I haven’t been for a _very_ long time.”

“I know this, it’s not about that...”

Don Alejandro said nothing and glanced toward the other side of the _plaza_. Victoria knew well where his thoughts were aimed at. When he suddenly got up with the very clear intention of joining his son and support his words in his own way – the way of a true de la Vega, according to him, which certainly implied reaching to the hilt of his sword – Victoria held him back by grabbing his arm.

“Don Alejandro,” she said, “for once I think Don Diego is right. Loosing your temper, lashing out at the alcalde and getting yourself locked up certainly won’t plead Felipe’s cause. I don’t know if the alcalde will listen to Don Diego and release Felipe tonight, but I think he was convinced by señorita Alacen’s testimony. According to what they both told me, anyway. So yes, I totally understand your frustration at not doing anything but sit here and wait, but although it feels weird for me to say this, for once let’s trust Don Diego and follow his advice. And well, nothing too bad can happen to Felipe anymore, for now...”

Her little speech seemed to temporarily calm down Don Alejandro’s fiery temper, who sat down slowly albeit obviously reluctantly.

“And have a taste of my barley water! Perhaps it doesn’t match up to a nice little Malaga or Jerez, but I bet you’ll like it anyway…”

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Ten minutes later Victoria was busy serving patrons inside her tavern when she heard Don Diego’s and Don Alejandro’s voices coming from her porch. _Cheerful_ voices.

She was about to go there to see for herself what was happening when she saw them enter the tavern. Not two men, but three: Felipe was with them!

“And finally the mail had not left for Monterey yet,” Don Diego was telling his father, “so he didn’t have the excuse to have to wait for anything else to release Felipe.”

His right arm was wrapped around the young man’s shoulder, who was smiling at Don Alejandro, at Don Diego, at the angels and at the whole world. After two and a half days in jail he was a bit scruffy and unkempt, but the smile that was showing up to his eyes was very good to see.

He made a series of signs which she didn’t understand, bar one: the one he used to refer to de Soto.

“Yes,” Diego replied, “I think so too: he would surely have been legally able to release you as soon as this morning, but he did it on purpose. Oh, I’m sure it’s not against you, _I_ ’m the one he doesn’t like much... Yet I have never done anything to him, or so very little...”

After this last sentence, Victoria saw him slightly wink at Felipe, a wink which meaning she didn’t quite catch. But Felipe’s smile broadened: apparently _he_ understood... Probably one of those father-son private jokes nobody else could understand...

“Oh, well,” she cut in, “I think the alcalde still resents you for José Riva’s case...” she told Diego, reaching the three men. “You know, all this dust in his office, the fake stubble, the sleeping drug in his food...”

“Oh, that...” he answered with a shrug. “But you’re probably right, he hinted at it once again no later than this morning when I went to see him with Senorita Alacen.”

Victoria turned to Felipe, taking care to position herself right in front of him, her face clearly in his field of vision.

“I am relieved to know you’re in the clear. It’s a real joy to see you’re free.”

She dared not add that she had never doubted his innocence, because she was pretty sure it would have been a lie... And he might have not believed her, incidentally, according to the slightly troubled look he had thrown her just the day before when she had visited him in jail.

Yes, this friendship too would need a little mending.

Taking the first step and giving in to both her impulse and her joy at seeing the young man reunited with his loved ones, she hugged him and raised her head and reached up to lay an affectionate kiss on his cheek, despite the scratchy stubble he had grown in the last two days and a half, razor blades being quite unwelcome in jail.

He stiffened a bit but didn’t back away and let her do, much to Victoria’s relief.

“How enthusiastic!” Diego told Victoria with a crooked grin. “I don’t remember you greeting me _that_ way after Ramone had me spend a night in jail for my articles in the _Guardian!_ ”

She looked at him, dumbfounded.

Uh... yeah, that might be true, she had probably not kissed him at this time... But anyway, that was not the same! _By the way,_ she wondered out of the blue, _how could it feel like, kissing Diego de la Vega’s cheek?_ But she quickly shooed this rather unseemly thought out of her mind. Kissing Felipe… well, _that_ was not the same. It had come to her almost naturally, just like that, an impulse. Out of sheer friendship. Not that she wasn’t friends with Diego too, far from it! Only… only here it was _Felipe_ , and with Felipe things were just not the same as with Diego, full stop! It just couldn’t be the same, period.

By the way, _why_ , after all? She couldn’t tell herself anymore it was because Felipe was just a kid, at nineteen years of age he could decently no longer be considered as such… So why?

And suddenly another thing she hadn’t yet thought about came to her mind and covered her current questioning: Dear Lord, she wondered with a bit of alarm, had she just departed from decency by publicly throwing her arms around Felipe’s neck and flying into his arms like that? Was it to throw the veil of humour and jest over this that Don Diego had gently joked about her sweet enthusiasm? To save _her_ day, to save _her_ face, to protect her good name and preserve her reputation as an honest woman? Or to discreetly remind her that Felipe was not really to be regarded as a child anymore?

Nevertheless... against her better judgment, Victoria was now curious to know what Diego de la Vega’s cheek would feel like against her lips.

“Diego,” Don Alejandro gently scolded his son, “don’t tease Victoria!”

He then led his son and his grandson-to-be to a table where the three of them sat down.

“Come on,” he said, “all this ordeal is over. Let’s celebrate! Victoria, my dear, bring us a pitcher of your excellent Rioja, please.”

Saying this, he threw a wink and a knowing smile in her direction. Victoria did her best to hide her amusement behind a fake disapproving frown. Don Alejandro smirked and Victoria finally smiled.

And after all, emptying a pitcher between the three of them to celebrate a happy event was really not the same as downing the same pitcher on one’s own to alleviate one’s anguish...

The other two seemed to notice this silent conversation – of course they did, she reflected, they were experts at talking without words! – but they didn’t understand what could be so funny.

After all, Victoria reflected, since Diego and Felipe seemed to have their private jokes and little secrets, then Don Alejandro and herself could have theirs as well!


	25. Ch 25

Victoria smiled, casting a glance at the table occupied by the de la Vegas. They were quietly celebrating their reunion, briefly interrupted from time to time by either of the tavern's customers coming to them to express his joy at Felipe's release or even to assure that of course, never, never ever had he believed him guilty, not for a split second – easy to say now that all this was over! Victoria thought – and between the three of them they had gradually reached the bottom of the pitcher of Rioja.

It was soon dinnertime and the tavern was three-quarters full. After their day's work and before dinner, whether they planned to have at the tavern or at home, many patrons had come here to quench their thirst and knock back a few drinks.

Victoria was waltzing from one table to another, a tray in one hand and a bottle in the other, when she saw a woman go down the stairs. Hadn't she herself helped her to do her hair and get dressed one hour earlier, Victoria would have hardly recognised Señorita Alacen.

The sick woman with her hair down and matted with sweat, covered in dust, looking drawn and rigged out like a scarecrow had been replaced by a clean young woman with disciplined hairstyle, her head held high, dressed in a clean and entirely seemly outfit.

Only signs of what he had recently happened to her: she was limping heavily and was keeping her left arm unmoving by her side, almost stiff, to prevent the joint of her shoulder from moving.

Her right hand clutched the banister, and one could see very clearly that she was heavily leaning on it when the weight of her body shifted to her right leg.

Another detail Victoria noted: Señorita Alacen had put some flowers from the Corporal Sepulveda's bouquet in her surely still wet hair, planted in her bun. Without her admitting it to herself, this observation made her smile.

Another observation that had made smile a little less, however, was noticing while she was helping her wash and get dressed that Señorita Alacen was probably younger than she was herself. Her skin, the firmness of her shapes, the features of her face – even in spite of the fatigue, dark circles and tiny wrinkles due to her condition – and up to her hair devoid of any white thread, everything seemed to reflect back to Victoria the sparkle of a youth that had still been hers a few years earlier but was now already beginning to fade.

Seeing the now spotlessly groomed señorita come down the stairs, these likely few years less seemed really obvious. And if they were such in Victoria's eyes, then they would also be in other's...

Victoria quickly swept this thought away, and as if to better erase it she wiped her counter with a sponge. The approach of the thirties was perhaps making her a bit bitter , that's all. But it certainly wasn't Señorita Alacen's fault that Victoria had found one more gray hair this morning in front of her mirror, that her bust was no longer as well emphasised by her blouses or that Zorro was (dilly-)dallying and keeping her hanging about year in, year out to fulfil his promise of a life together for the two of them... and maybe more than two.

No, none of that was the señorita's fault, Victoria reasoned, not even the fact that Diego de la Vega had just got up from his table to come and meet her at the bottom of the staircase.

Victoria wrung her sponge out, squeezing, twisting it forcefully long after the last drop of water had been squished out.

Flashes of earlier, when she helped the young woman get washed, came back to her mind and she suddenly remembered an illustration of a two-centuries-old painting she had seen in a book at the de la Vegas'. A painting that was entitled something like _The toilet of Venus_ , _Venus's bath_ or whatnot, she couldn't remember the exact name... But, much more to the point, she remembered very well having been utterly shocked at these pages and pages of naked or half-naked women on display. Of men too, come to think of that... Yes, she had been quite shocked at seeing that Don Diego owned books which contained pictures of naked women. But this was _art_ , or so it seemed; from what he had told her then, anyway. Well, it might be art to some, yet she herself couldn't help but see first and foremost naked women in these.

Certainly not the kind of picture she would hang on the walls of her tavern, lest people be totally mistaken as to the nature of the business she was running!

The fact remained that Señorita Alacen, curvy, buxom and bordering chubby, with her broad hips, round thighs and fleshy buttocks, had reminded her of this Venus with rounded curves and generously proportioned shapes. Except that all these painters' women were blond and sometimes so pale-skinned that one might have believed them dead if not for some patches of rosy skin here and there.

Victoria could only welcome the fact that nightshirts were meant to be loose-fitting, otherwise she might have had some trouble slipping the one she had lent her onto the señorita... And to think that Don Diego had lifted and carried her in his arms – more than once! – as if she weighed no more than a feather! Victoria reflected that she had apparently underestimated his strength... But after all, even though he certainly wasn't the strongest of men, he was indeed a man all the same! Over time, gradually and by dint of seeing him do hardly anything but read, write and talk, she might have forgotten this...

And men were physically stronger than women, a fact she had to admit although it displeased her.

Another fact which she could do nothing about: men generally preferred women with generous shapes, rounded... cushiony... feminine curves, in a word. They often preferred that there be "matter to stroke"... to touch... to fondle… to feel... to embrace.

Perhaps... perhaps if she herself had been a bit more... substantial, perhaps then would she have managed to convince Zorro to share some more... _contact_ with her than a few furtive kisses, perhaps would he have let her convince him to stay longer than a few minutes blowing through her kitchen or her bedroom... perhaps would he even have let go enough to agree to let her untie this mask she was starting to hate with all her might?

Perhaps, despite her black knight's repeated assurances, was she not appealing enough in his eyes?

Well, not to the point of ever succeeding in driving him out of his mind anyway, she regretted with a hint of bitterness.

And it wouldn't get any better over time, she reflected. Hopefully, however, Zorro would finally make up his mind and dare to take that step before her posterior becomes completely flabby, her breasts reaches her navel, the skin of her face withers completely, her back becomes stooped and therefore she became even smaller than she already was, and above all before rheumatism seized them both!


	26. Ch 26

Heavily leaning on the arm Señor de la Vega had gallantly proffered to help her walk in spite of her injured leg, Luz saw a man approach them; a man with gray hair and very dignified bearing, dressed elegantly – yet simply – enough for her to acknowledge him as one of these rich landowners of California, no doubt a _caballero_.

The man was elderly, but not yet too much an old man according to her personal standards, and though he was certainly a little bit taller in the past he was now more or less the same height as she was herself. His silver mane was still relatively luxuriant and a thin moustache adorned his upper lip.

“Ah Señorita, it's a real relief to see you in good health,” he said, a broad smile on his lips.

His gaze seemed to almost imperceptibly linger on her right arm wrapped around Señor de la Vega’s, and his smile seemed to reach his eyes where something, some small sparkle, twinkled fleetingly.

Señor de la Vega – _Don_ _Diego_ , as the innkeeper had called him, right? – turned to her:

“Señorita, please allow me to introduce my father, Don Alejandro.”

The latter took her left hand – the only one that was unused – and lifted it halfway up, at waist level. Luz did her best to hide the wince that this move had caused by tugging, even very lightly, at her injured shoulder. The man then bent over her hand that he gently and respectfully kissed before standing back up straight and introducing himself:

“Alejandro de la Vega, at your service, milady.”

Not wanting to be outdone by such courteous greeting and homage, so urbane and impeccable, Luz told herself she couldn’t possibly avoid offering him a real and equally impeccable curtsey. Which hardly helped matters with her, given the state her right thigh was currently in. Really all she needed!

Bracing herself and gritting her teeth, she discreetly shifted her full weight to her left leg while she moved her right foot backwards and let go of Don Diego’s arm; then, slowly, carefully, she bent her left knee while bowing her shoulders and head as gracefully as she could. At least so, head down, she didn’t have to hold back the wince caused by both the muscle stretching in her slightly bent right leg and her left arm moving to punctuate her curtsey as elegantly as possible. She then unbent with as much difficulty as she had previously bent down and, holding back a sigh of relief once this little feat achieved, she again masked her pain behind a facade of perfect civility: it was after all absolutely not the man’s fault that her upper leg was lacerated and currently burning-hot as if a poker had been applied there.

“Luz Alacen,” she in turn introduced herself. “Greatly honoured, Don Alejandro.”

“The honour is mine Señorita,” he replied, obviously not wanting to be outdone in rivalling in pleasantries.

According to the look on his face, Don Alejandro had apparently been impressed by her deep curtsey. _Well, he could!_ she thought inwardly, considering what it had cost her in effort, pain and concealment!

Yes, he seemed pretty impressed and _delighted_ , too, without her understanding fully why. Then he glanced again at his son, not adding any word.

Don Diego seemed to hesitate over whether or not offering her his arm again, then he appeared to choose not to do so, but instead he set his left hand very gently in the small of her back – oh, barely, just the tips of his fingers! – and led her to a table situated a few steps forth, whence his father had come.

Don Alejandro stepped aside to let her walk past him, and at the same time his son spoke again:

“And I believe there is a young man here who’s eager to thank you, señorita.”

Just when the older man moved aside, she could see behind him the young man she had crossed paths with that same morning – _no!_ she corrected herself, _two days earlier!_ – on the _Camino_ _Real._

Incidentally, the past two days could be read in the stubble covering his cheeks and chin as well as in those slightly hollow cheeks or in the shadows under his eyes, and even in his rumpled clothes, a clear sign that they have been slept in. He looked tried, tired, and more than a bit unkempt, but even so his smile and eyes were speaking volumes as to how relieved he felt.

She was about to make a careful small step forth when a sharp pain in her right thigh reminded her that although Don Alejandro de la Vega was absolutely not to blame for her current state, the same could not be said of his grandson. But at once, the idea of what the young man had to go through in the aftermath, the thought of the anguish and injustice he had certainly felt during the two long days he spent in jail somewhat eased her resentment, and compassion took precedence over any personal grudge. And if she was already feeling compassion, she knew she wasn’t very far from forgiveness anymore.

He, for his part, hadn’t perhaps reached the stage of remorse yet, but anyway she could guess from the look on his face that he was overcome with gratitude.

“Even though you have already met, yet very informally so,” Don Diego said, “allow me to do the introductions. Señorita, this is my son Felipe. Felipe, please meet señorita Alacen, thanks to whom you were cleared and released.”

The young man greeted her with a nod and was now coming toward her, his right hand reaching to gently take hold of hers, clearly intending to lay there the very courteous hand-kissing his father or his grandfather certainly didn’t fail to teach him. The mere thought of it made her suddenly turn pale, as this would mean she would owe him in return the same curtsey she had just given Don Alejandro. And _this_... just _no_ , no way! Right here, right now, impossible. Not straight after the one she’d just favoured his grandfather with at the cost of a very sharp pain in her leg and shoulder and of a wealth of concealment in order to hide said pain.

Twice within one minute, no. Hardly conceivable. Unthinkable. So taking action before he went on with the plan she straightened up with dignity, tightened her grip on the young man’s hand and shook it vigorously, as cordially as she could. After all, if it was a thank-you on the one side and forgiveness on the other side, a good and heartfelt handshake would do just as well, if not even better!

The three men appeared somewhat taken aback by this rather manly greeting, but Luz couldn’t have cared less. Anything, rather than having to reiterate the prowess of a curtsey. You’d think that they didn’t realise! And… was it a remnant of unwitting resentment that had led her to slightly crush the young man’s hand? Oh, so little, just barely so...


	27. Ch 27

While Felipe was discreetly drumming his fingers into emptiness in a piano-like motion to relax his knuckles, Don Alejandro had invited señorita Alacen to sit at their table and engaged in conversation with her, followed in this by Diego.

Victoria put a glass in front of their guest. Diego noted she looked slightly dejected, feeling a bit down despite the joyful news of Felipe’s release.

“...isn’t it, Diego?” his father asked, suddenly bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Mmm... Sorry, what did you say?” he then said, having no idea what his father had just asked him.

“Your father was praising the virtues of Los Ángeles,” the young woman answered him.

“Yes,” Don Alejandro added further, “admittedly it’s a small pueblo, but people here are welcoming and engaging, you’ll see it during the course of your stay, that I hope will be long enough for us to have the pleasure of enjoying your company.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you Don Alejandro,” she replied. “And indeed so far I have met here only very accommodating and nice people, like señorita Escalante and your son.”

“Ah yes,” Don Alejandro told her, “Diego took great care of you and was very worried about your condition, weren’t you Diego?”

“Felipe too inquired several times about your state during his captivity,” Diego immediately added. “And the corporal came several times to visit the señorita.”

“That reminds me, Señor, I still have to thank him,” she said while mechanically raising her hand to the flowers planted in her hair. “Would you please be kind enough to point him out to me if he were to enter the tavern...”

“We’ll be sure to, won’t we, Father?”

“Uh... yes, certainly,” Don Alejandro answered, slightly at a loss as to what Sepulveda had to do with this discussion.

But even after all these years it still escaped him how much his son had become skilled at changing subject and diverting conversations.

“And as I said,” Diego went on, “Felipe himself was worried about you, weren’t you, Felipe?”

Felipe’s mind was elsewhere, perhaps still partly in jail, and he hadn’t paid attention to a single word of what had just been said.

Don Alejandro gave him a nudge that startled him. Now that Diego had his undivided attention he repeated his question, and Felipe nodded in agreement.

But Luz was not looking at him. With a slight frown and a half-puzzled half-surprised look on her face, she told Diego:

“But... but... I don’t understand! Didn’t you tell me he’s deaf?”

Felipe, once again, didn’t let a single sign betray that he’d heard her comment and understood what she just said, although it was a bit hurtful to hear her speak of him as though he weren’t there. He was unfortunately used to it, although it still displeased him just as much. But then, he reasoned with himself as if to take comfort in this thought, it was for a good cause, for the greater good!

Meanwhile, Diego enlightened the señorita:

“Felipe lip-reads perfectly, so you can talk to him in an absolutely normal way, as long as you take care to look right at him while doing so.”

“Well I never!” she exclaimed. “Really?”

“Don’t ask _me_ ,” Diego answered hiding a hint of annoyance, “ask Felipe!”

She turned to the young man and, careful to articulate very clearly, she asked:

“Really? You really understand what I’m saying just by looking at the movements of my lips?”

He nodded.

“Well I never!” she exclaimed again. “This is truly amazing.”

She clearly couldn’t quite believe it. Felipe, for his part, was smiling in a rather embarrassed way. But Luz didn’t fully understand what could be so embarrassing there. Quite the contrary: performing something so difficult was an achievement to be proud of!

That seemed to be Don Alejandro’s opinion too, as he added:

“Yes, Felipe is a very talented boy. This skill is not within the reach of just anybody, yet Felipe understands absolutely everything whoever tells him, to the point that he’s able to follow any conversation if he sees everyone’s lips, isn’t it my boy?”

But the young man seemed even more embarrassed by his grandfather’s praise, as while nodding he lowered his head almost… sheepishly? And even… ashamedly? _Weird_ , Luz thought, there was yet no shame in developing abilities above average to get around and make up for a handicap!

But probably she was reading him wrong: maybe he was not sheepish, but just embarrassed? Maybe he didn’t really know how to deal with praise and compliments?

Diego, for his part, said nothing either. He too was looking away. Don Alejandro was now so used to this behaviour from his son that he gave up the idea of raising it, and since Diego had suddenly become as mute as Felipe and the latter was now looking at his feet, the older man took it upon himself to rekindle the conversation.

“By the way Señorita, tell me, what is it that brings you to our pueblo?

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Diego was not very proud of himself. He hated lying to his father, and he hated that act he’s been making Felipe play for so many years – oh, in full agreement with him of course, and even on his own initiative… And above all, he hated lying to his father about this particular subject: Don Alejandro would be so overjoyed if he knew that Felipe could hear! He who had taken care of the boy while Diego was in Spain, who had guided him through the last years of childhood and into early teenage deserved more than anyone to know the truth about Felipe, Diego knew it, was very well aware of it.

Meanwhile, the conversation was going on between his father and their guest, and Diego emerge from his reverie when he heard his name slip in the discussion.

“…and by the way, it so happens that Diego lived several years in Spain, in Madrid, where he studied at university. Do you know Madrid, Señorita?”

“I went there twice for a few weeks, but I can’t really say that I _know_ Madrid. At least not as well as someone who has lived there. No, I’m from Barcelona.”

And something could be sensed in the way she said this last sentence, some pride, almost a hint of challenge which Diego didn’t fail to notice.

“Did you go to Barcelona, Diego, during your years in Spain?” Don Alejandro asked him in order to bring him back into the conversation and to his duties as a gracious host toward their guest.

“Unfortunately not,” he answered. “Well, it’s a good eight days’ journey by stagecoach from Madrid. But it is said to be ebullient and abundant in minds of all kinds, of firebrands, restless minds and agitated spirits too.”

“In all the ages the powers that be have called ‘restless’ and ‘agitated’ the minds and spirits who thought differently from themselves,” the señorita cryptically said. “Am I to understand that you preferred the court spirit that certainly prevailed in Madrid?”

 _Ouch,_ Don Alejandro thought, if the conversation drifted to the political ground, it boded ill for the harmony and the ‘getting along’ he hoped to establish with the newcomer. Just think: for nothing in the world he would want that whatever should come between Diego and the first young woman to whom he had seen his son spontaneously offer his arm in years!

“In Madrid I mostly cared about my studies, Señorita,” Diego retorted. “You can ask my father, he will confirm that much to his chagrin and utter regret, I’m only very remotely interested in all these side-issues that divert the mind from seeking knowledge and comprehension.”

This reply seemed to arouse the señorita’s interest or curiosity, and she arched two surprised eyebrows while examining Diego. It also had the merit of getting the wind out of her sails and rendering her speechless, stopping her short in her tracks.

Then the shadow of a smile grazed her lips and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod, as if to acknowledge the point he’d just made and scored.

“My son is too modest, Señorita; Diego’s interests are far more varied and broader than he lets on,” Don Alejandro went on, suddenly very little sparing with praises about his spineless son, but those that takes up most of his attention revolve around the study of experimental physics and natural philosophy, and his knowledge on the subject never cease to amaze me, doesn’t it my boy?

The ‘boy’ in question looked at his father with a stunned look on his face, unaccustomed as he was to paternal praises. Then, after wondering for a split second what on earth had got into his noble progenitor, he suddenly saw through his father’s little game and threw a very discreet frown at him, while from the corner of his eye he saw Felipe try to hide an amused smile.

Diego, for his part, was _not_ amused. At all.

Señorita Alacen, for her part, was now staring into empty space, lost in intense thoughts; then she looked at Diego as if she was seeing him for the first time, with her mouth agape.

“Wait a…” she finally slowly let out. “Wait…”

All three looked at her – all four, with Victoria who was keeping an eye from afar on the scene playing two or three tables away from her.

In Luz’s mind, which was presently running at full speed, the ideas were linking to each other, and even gradually intertwining: Señor _de la Vega_ … Don _Diego_ … Madrid… university… physical sciences… _De la Vega_ … Don _Diego_ … No! Impossible! It would really be an extraordinary coincidence if…

“You... you…” she finally managed to stammer, “you couldn’t… you wouldn’t be the same Diego de la Vega who wrote an essay about Young’s double-slit experiment and his theories on the nature of light?”

This time it was Diego’s turn to be speechless. What? Here, in a small pueblo lost in the middle of the Californian desert, in one of the remotest corners of the Empire, of New Spain, five thousands sea miles away from Madrid, two thousands and five hundred leagues, more than one-month journey from Spain, he was coming across someone who had got wind of his past works, of a six or seven years old publication!


	28. Ch 28

Admittedly, the conversation taking place right now at his table was wholly beyond Don Alejandro's grasp, but he was absolutely delighted all the same. Victoria, as for her, was as much put out of her depth as he was by the concepts and even the vocabulary used by the two talkers, but oddly enough she felt far less delighted than he was.

Yet she should have felt happy for Don Diego! Someone sharing the same so... so _peculiar_ interests as his was not stopping by Los Ángeles everyday! So yes, she should have been glad for her friend that for once he crossed paths with someone with whom he could converse about what obviously mattered to him, what was close to his heart.

So what? Was it the... the touch of... well, of near _admiration_ she sensed in the voice and even the eyes of this woman that awoke this discreet sense of alarm in Victoria? No, she decided, she was probably rather slightly annoyed not to understand what these two were saying, which rather cruelly emphasised her own lack of education. For which none of these two was responsible, she reasoned with herself.

But still, hearing them talk that way, using words she had never heard but which both of them handled with ease... to be honest it was pretty humbling. And the fact that Don Alejandro seemed not to get anything in all this gibberish either did comfort her only very little. It was as if they were speaking a foreign language, a language of their own that no one else knew around there.

No one? Not so sure, she noticed. For Felipe, as for him, if he didn't _hear_ this strange language seemed to understand it almost as much as they did. He was following the conversation with interest, taking even part in it from time to time through a few signs that Diego translated. Mostly questions.

Victoria saw Gaspar Iturbide, a small landowner of the vicinity, come to them. He was a greatly deserving and hardworking ranchero, who had started from scratch or at least very few and managed to make a place for himself by dint of effort and a keen business acumen, but also had some delusions of grandeur and liked to be called _'Don'_ Gaspar. Señor Iturbide shook hands with Felipe for a long time after he duly greeted Don Alejandro, Don Diego and the unknown lady who shared their table.

At first, Diego was surprised by Iturbide's mark of interest toward Felipe: never before had he paid attention to the boy, regarding him – like many others – as insignificant at best, granting him about as much interest and consideration as to a piece of furniture that would have happened to be there: useful, functional, nothing more. And lo and behold he was speaking to him, making the obvious effort to clearly articulate, and he was now warmly shaking hands with him, assuring him of his relief at knowing his recent ordeal over and of his trust in his excellent morals.

It was a bit too much, and too sudden, not to arouse the utter astonishment of Felipe himself, of Diego of course, but also of Don Alejandro.

Politely, Felipe let him do but threw discreet questioning glances towards Diego and Alejandro which meaning was obvious: _does any one of you two have any idea what's got into him?_

And suddenly light dawned on Diego: _yes, of course! Gaspar Iturbide has a youngest daughter who must now be around sixteen..._

It had to be what this warm and very sudden affection for Felipe was about, Diego thought clenching his jaw. Yes, the day he announced his intention to make Felipe his son, some people seemed to suddenly rediscover this boy's mere existence and to pay him an attention they had surely never before even considered granting him with.

Probably the other side of the coin… Diego was almost wondering whether he had done a real service to Felipe there when the latter, his hand still warmly clasped by Don Gaspar, gave him another quizzical look.

 _Beatriz,_ Diego mouthed to him while the man was still looking at Felipe. If the young man fully recognised the name of the youngest Iturbide sibling in the movement of his father's lips, he however absolutely didn't make the connection with Don Gaspar's strange and sudden behaviour, and did not understand how on earth it was supposed to explain it.

 _Ah, happy innocence and ingenuousness of youth!_ Diego sighed inwardly.

But as for the connection between Felipe's adoption by Don Diego de la Vega and the new status it would give him, well, others obviously had however already started to make it for him!

From his soon-to-be son, Diego's eyes went to his own father and to the half-smile he had been sporting since he invited young señorita Alacen to share their table...

But what on earth was this obsession fathers had with marrying off their children at all costs! Couldn't they just let them go at their own pace, according to their heart, and let them live their love life as they wished!

Diego then inwardly promised himself that he would never push Felipe on this oh-so personal and delicate path, wouldn't pressure him, wouldn't meddle with it and try to marry him off, and that Felipe would never hear from him the very heavy innuendos Don Alejandro had been aiming at himself for years and years. No, none of that for Felipe! Diego vowed never to interfere in his son's love life, to let him go at a pace that suited him. That Felipe would choose. Without any pressure. Nor interference.

Young Beatriz Iturbide certainly was a very good, nice and proper young girl – Diego couldn't tell, he'd never had any reason to doubt it, but after all he knew her so little! – but he didn't seem to him that Felipe had so far shown any beginning of liking for her, nor that she herself had displayed the slightest particular interest in him. Señor Iturbide's manoeuvre thus appeared as for yet as random and uncertain as a message in a bottle, and what's more, devoid of any meaning!

"...and I'm sincerely happy for you Don Diego," he was now saying, "you must be deeply relieved. But of course it was obvious that everything would sort itself out, and just last night I was telling my wife and Beatriz – my daughter, you know her, don't you? – well, I was telling them yesterday, and they both agreed, that no one in his right mind could possibly question this charming young man's probity and perfect morality, of course!"

"Of course!" Diego echoed. But he did so in a tone dripping with so much irony that even señorita Alacen, yet totally extraneous to what was playing before her eyes and absolutely unaware of the underlying situation could not fail to note the sarcasm in Diego's voice.

Felipe, although he was supposed to understand spoken words just by reading lips, wasn't meant to catch nuances of tone for all that, so he did his best to remain stone-faced and not acknowledge Diego's resolutely sarcastic tone.

Don Alejandro, as for him, generally did not like to see his son behave in any discourteous or rude manner, yet for once he kept silent, which acted as a tacit agreement with Diego, because Señor Iturbide's tirade had grated on his nerves too: if Don Gaspar was so convinced of Felipe's innocence from the start, how comes he didn't come sooner to show them his support, even though only _moral_ support, anytime during the two days _before_ señorita Alacen awakened and cleared his name!

Victoria, for her part, hadn't missed the scene unfolding so close to her and had not missed a single word of it either. She could only approve Diego's slight fit of temper and gave him a look that was both knowing and sympathetic, rolling his eyes at the act Iturbide had put on for them.

When he finally left, Luz asked Diego and Felipe:

"A good friend of yours?"

Felipe stared at her but could not answer, still a bit stunned by what just happened.

"Apparently..." Diego answered cautiously, a touch of irony in his voice which tone was otherwise falsely sceptical.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Still sitting on their bench in the tavern, the four guests watched Señor Iturbide walk back to his table on the veranda.

"Well," Luz suddenly let out , "where were we, again?"

Felipe then drew an imaginary wave with the tip of his index finger and then traced a straight line before using both hands to simulate a splaying shape.

"Right," Luz said, "thank you. Yes, the undulatory behaviour of light seems to be evidenced by this phenomenon, I agree with you on that point Don Diego, however as rigorous and thorough as it is, as elegant and appealing as may be the equations presented in it, you must admit that your memoir blithely leaves aside everything that would seem to corroborate the hypothesis of a tangible nature of light and–

"How so, _blithely leaves aside_?" Diego asked, slightly on the defensive. "I find on the contrary that–"

"Come on," she cut in, "let's be a bit more impartial: what of the overall rectilinear displacement of light? Of the proportionality between the intensity of brightness and the amount incandescent material? Of the difference of temperature between dark- and light-coloured containers? Of–"

"That was not the subject of this experiment!" Diego exclaimed.

"Of the experiment, no," she agreed. "But your paper wasn't supposed to confine itself to it: it was about of the _nature_ of light, and Young's experiment seemed to have convinced you. I admit myself that it would convince anyone, but you just seem to have simply dismissed as you pleased any previous observation that was not in agreement with the hypothesis you were trying to support. At least, you can surely concede that this is not the most serious attitude a truly impartial mind can adopt whenever facing a phenomenon he fails to explain through his own theory-"

"This is not _my_ theory," he corrected. "Unfortunately so..." he added regretfully.

"Yes, I hear you Señor," she said. "So let's render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and unto Young what belongs to Young. Nonetheless your essay, as extraordinarily well written and deeply detailed as it is with regard to wave-like phenomena, merrily ignores Ptolemy, Descartes and Newton. Come up with a satisfactory interpretation of all observed phenomena that would be based on the wave-like nature of light, and I will be delighted to be the first one to congratulate you and to support you in publishing your results!"

Again Victoria Escalante didn't understand anything of what was said around this table, other than that Diego and this Luz spoke the same language, even though they didn't seem to totally agree right now. Felipe was still following with great interest what was said and nodded at what the young woman was saying, watching Diego from the corner of his eye as if to apologise for somewhat agreeing with her. Don Alejandro, as for him, was having his enthusiasm slightly dampened at seeing Señorita Alacen and Diego apparently disagree a bit over a point to which he didn't understand anything whatsoever.

"What I mean," Luz went on, "is that this behaviour is not totally worthy of a true scientific mind who's seeking the truth about the way the system of the world is organised, and that it's surprising coming from a man who's able to write such a painstakingly rigorous paper, such an elegantly crafted, such an alluring essay as I found yours to be! It's a work that commands respect and I was just a bit unsated, unsatisfied, it just left me a bit hungry for more because I was hoping to find in there an objective counter-analysis of previous theories too, that's all."

But this onslaught of compliments appeared to only slightly alleviate the sting of the modest criticism it sugarcoated, and Diego scowled a bit, not unlike a sulky child, much to Felipe's utter amusement.


	29. Ch 29

“Please forgive me this question Señorita, but how comes you have travelled such a journey to Los Ángeles on your own, without anyone to accompany you?” Don Alejandro asked.

“You mean without a duenna, I presume? Without a chaperone? I simply happen to think that I’m a little old for needing to be watched and supervised. And as, mercifully, there is no one to force one on me–”

“That’s the farthest thing from my mind, Señorita” Don Diego lied, “yet what my father means is that it’s not prudent to ride on your own on such a long distance. So much can happen along the way...”

“Like falling off one’s horse?” she asked with a smile, giving Felipe a sidelong glance. “I admit that’s a risk and I was lucky in my misfortune: had I have an accident in the middle of nowhere rather than near a town or village, the situation would indeed have been more problematic... But one cannot live in constant fear of imponderables, of accident or of misfortune in general, or one cannot call it live. As for duennas, chaperones or other: this is not my way of life. I do very well without one, thank you very much.”

“Not even mentioning that,” Diego replied, “why at all riding on horseback to Los Ángeles? For a several-days journey, why not just take the stagecoach?”

“And be subjected to the schedules of other people? Pile into a carriage with perfect strangers, half of whom feeling obliged to make small talk with me for ten hours without letting me read in peace? Unable to understand or imagine that some people could wish for a bit of silence and meditation?”

“You don’t have of a much taste for company?” Don Alejandro asked.

“I have a taste for the company I choose,” she said, elegantly gesturing to her dining companions as though to reassure them. “Much less of the one I’m subjected to,” she added.

“A bit like Diego, after all,” Don Alejandro said, speaking of his son as if he wasn’t currently sitting at the same table. “He is often rather solitary, he even sometimes disappears for hours without my being able to know where he’s hiding...”

“Father, please...” Diego grumbled at him, rather embarrassed.

“Oh, not that he’s some gruff bear or anything, Señorita,” Alejandro immediately said, suddenly afraid of the impression the girl could have of his son. “No, not at all, only he too sometimes likes a little bit of quiet time to think, don’t you Diego?”

Felipe, who hadn’t noticed the first thing about Señor Iturbide’s manoeuvres, saw however perfectly right through his future grandfather’s; well, these were hardly subtle, truth be told! And it highly amused him, especially when his eyes landed on Diego himself who looked afraid, aghast, annoyed and irritated all at once. Felipe bit his lips to keep from downright laughing and sat comfortably back in his chair to watch the scene at leisure, like attending a show. Somewhere deep inside him a little voice was telling him that he shouldn’t be having fun at his father’s expense, that this was not very charitable of him, nor very respectful of a good son, but after the last two terrible and frightening days he’s just been through he thought he deserved a bit of relaxation and entertainment. He therefore stifled his conscience’s little voice and enjoyed the show.

“Diego told me you’ll stay in Los Angeles for some more time,” Alejandro said, “time enough for your condition to allow you to get back on the road...”

“It is true that I unfortunately cannot ride right now.”

“All the less so that even walking causes her much trouble and pain,” Diego told his father. “You shouldn’t try to make more than a few steps,” he then directly addressed her, “you could see how you just had to lean on the banister or on tables to get here! If your cut reopens or if you relapse, it will cause a lot of trouble to Señorita Escalante who already has much to do with running this tavern!”

He had seen the gratitude Luz had showed toward Victoria, so he decided – with a bit of a guilty conscience – to play the ‘culpabilisation’ card to persuade her to spare her own strength and take care of herself and of her convalescence.

“Yes,” Don Alejandro added, “Diego is right: you cannot stay at the inn in your condition. On your own... with no help... and these stairs to go up to your room...”

Felipe grinned, casting a furtive glance at Diego before his eyes came back to Don Alejandro: he’d just understood exactly what the older man was getting at and thought that the show was only just beginning!

“Look...” Alejandro went on, “well, come to think of that, why don’t you stay at our hacienda for the duration of your recovery?”

And here we are! Felipe thought, glancing at Diego. The latter was speechless and had a dismayed look tinged with a hint of exasperation. Oh yes, Felipe thought, savouring with a delectable and affectionate hint of ingratitude each second of his father’s discomfort, surely this is better than any theatrical farce!

“Oh Don Alejandro,” Luz protested, “I cannot accept... The bother it would–”

“Come on,” he replied, “none of this, please! You absolutely won’t bother us! You will have your own room, no stairs, all the peace and quiet you want, and the servants can help you for everyday activities made difficult by your injury... Please, say yes! We owe you so much, don’t we Felipe?”

He nodded to express his gratitude, however looking a little embarrassed, and to completely convince and persuade her he mimed with both hands a book being opened and, spreading his arms wide, he made a gesture indicating something large.

“Yes, he's right,” Don Alejandro told Luz. “You would also be able to enjoy our library, which Diego will be happy to show you... He is its main purveyor – and user, I must say.”

Diego, defeated, cast a frustrated look at his son that Felipe had no trouble translating: Tu quoque, Brute! Out of sudden vindictiveness and desire of retaliation, Diego quickly started to reconsider his very recent promise and imagined setting up a ‘random’ meeting between Felipe and Beatriz Iturbide... just to show him what being tricked and trapped by your beloved ones felt like!

Yes, Felipe had quickly found out how to bait Señorita Alacen who couldn’t resist this last argument. She accepted, much to Don Alejandro’s delight and Felipe’s utter amusement. Diego, for his part, was feeling more mixed; but after all his father was right, she couldn’t stay alone at the tavern in her condition, which would require several days of convalescence, and after she had testified so quickly, so eagerly and so favourably to Felipe, they simply couldn’t abandon her to her fate and all three of them had to take care of her.


	30. Ch 30

When came the time to get up from the table, Don Alejandro announced that he would go on ahead on the way back and send a carriage for the señorita and her personal belongings.

“Oh, my belongings will take up very little space,” she replied, “but thank you very much. Especially as I am hardly fit enough to ride yet.”

“Diego will keep you company until the carriage arrives. Come on, Felipe.”

“Actually Father, I still have two or three things to see to with Felipe,” Diego lied. “And after these last two days I would like to enjoy his company a little longer...”

At least that last sentence wasn’t a lie. But it also was really timely and very convenient to help him in his current predicament.

“Yes of course,” Don Alejandro sighed, “what was I thinking?”

Diego, Felipe, and even Victoria who was passing by, inwardly thought that they knew very well what Don Alejandro had been thinking of, but no one dared tell him so.

“However,” he tried again as a last resort, “Felipe is certainly exhausted after these last two days, and he surely dreams of a good warm bath and a good cosy bed...”

Felipe, whose guilty conscience was starting to gnaw at him with regard to the trick he had just played on Diego, resisted the appeal of the bath and rest he nevertheless was dreaming of and signed that he could wait one more hour. He decided to stay with Diego, much to the latter’s relief. And besides, the young man too wanted to spend some more time in his father-to-be’s company, even though they wouldn’t be alone and couldn’t talk freely.

He smiled apologetically at Diego and the latter briefly hugged him, both happy to have him back and grateful of him not completely following Don Alejandro in his matrimonially-oriented manoeuvres.

“If you'll excuse me a moment,” said señorita Alacen who suddenly felt out of place in the middle of these family displays of affection, “I'm going to pay off what I owe to señorita Escalante for the last two days, before I go back to my room and gather my belongings.”

“Please Señorita,” Diego said, suddenly getting back all the chivalry and courteousness of a proper and decent host, “leave this to us and be our guest! Especially since you could hardly enjoy your stay at the pueblo...”

“I _can_ pay my own expenses, Señor. I want to,” she added firmly.

Diego then understood he would offend her if he insisted and he gave up.

That’s why, limping, leaning for support from table to table, offering here and there an apology to the customers she bumped in passing, she reached the counter.

Diego wanted to take this opportunity to have a private conversation with Felipe, but his father was still there, waiting for the señorita’s return to take his leave of her in due manner.

At the counter Victoria took the coins señorita Alacen had taken out of a pouch hanging from her belt. Luz found the charming innkeeper suddenly much less affable, or anyway more taciturn, and wondered what could possibly have changed her behaviour that was yet still friendly barely one hour earlier.

“Thank you again for your hospitality, señorita Escalante,” she tried to cajole her. “I am extremely grateful for the good care you took of me, but you’re probably now relieved since my departure will lessen your workload...”

Luz expected the polite and formulaic answer – sincere or not, that was not the issue – like _oh please, that was nothing_ , or _you didn’t bother me_ , or simply _don’t mention it_ that such an opening normally triggered from any courteous person, instead of which Victoria retorted:

“Oh but I have no doubt that you will be _very_ well cared for at the de la Vegas’, won’t you? With all these people to look after you...”

And all this said in a tone that left Luz very puzzled, and did not enable her to determine whether or not señorita Escalante was glad to see her leave, in the end. Had she offended her that much, by shortening her stay under her roof?

A bit confused, she went back to her new hosts, banging again into the same customers, apologising profusely again to them.

As Don Alejandro started to take his leave and all four of them got closer to the tavern’s door, she suddenly remembered her horse.

“Don’t worry about him,” Diego reassured her, “he’ll stay in the garrison’s stables as long as his leg has not healed. He’s well taken care of, you can rest assured.”

“I’d like to see him,” she simply said, almost pleading. “Before I leave I would like to go and see him, please.”

“Diego will accompany you there,” Don Alejandro said with a smile. “See you later, children!” he added as he crossed the threshold.

Once again entrapped by his father, Diego had no other choice but to offer his arm to the señorita so that she could lean on it and walk at her own slow pace. They had barely stepped out through the door when he suddenly remembered he hadn’t paid Victoria for their dinner and stopped dead in his tracks.

“If you'll excuse me, I must first go and pay our own bill before I forget... We wouldn’t want to drive Victoria into deficit,” he added with a smile. “Sorry for the delay, Señorita.”

“It's nothing, I assure you,” she told him. “But beware, I’m afraid she’s quite cranky right now...”

Felipe, as if to apologise for having had so much fun at his father’s expense and for having played a part in dragging him down the tricky situation Don Alejandro had put him in, offered to replace Diego in accompanying Luz to the stables, therefore appeasing his guilty conscience _and_ thereby taking a small thorn out of his father’s side.

So coming to his rescue, he proffered his own arm to the señorita while Diego withdrew his.

Diego thus thought he had the best son any father could dream of. Yes, really, Felipe was a good lad after all, so he gave up his idea of retaliation and of set-up date with the certainly very charming but hardly known señorita Iturbide.

Felipe and their new guest had barely taken a step to the _plaza_ , their backs to the tavern as well as to Diego, when Victoria joined him on the porch.

Without a word, she tentatively stood on tiptoes and then, resolutely, she landed a kiss on Diego’s cheek.

The latter, rather stunned, slowly turned towards Victoria and managed to articulate:

“...What... what... what was that for...?”

She smiled and simply said:

“I’m glad Ramone released you from jail after your first articles in the _Guardian_...”

Then she went back inside just like she had come, disappearing inside her tavern.

A blushing Diego then looked back to the _plaza_ and saw that Felipe, his back still to the tavern but his head turned toward him, hadn’t missed anything of that scene. A taunting smirk was adorning his face, matched by impish eyes sparkling with mischief.

_“Oh, just shut up!”_ Diego silently mouthed at him.

But Felipe didn’t ‘shut up’ at all. Quite the contrary: his sardonic grin broadened even more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTE: This chapter marks more or less the end of what would constitute the ‘first part’ of this story, the part devoted to Felipe’s predicament, the end of it laying the foundation for the rest of the story...  
> At one point I thought I might split this fic into two (or three) fics to be read one after the other (rename this one "Mésentente cordiale - Part I" and then create another fic named "Part II", etc ...) but ultimately I think I'll go on just like this, continuing in the same fic, even if it means a long story with many chapters... What do you think?


	31. Ch 31

A clean-shaven Felipe appeared at the breakfast table the next morning. Amazing how a bath, clean clothes and a little rest can change a man!

Diego and Alejandro, as for them, were already seated, discussing an errand they had to run to the pueblo the same day, and Felipe joined them.

Barely a minute later, all three of them stood up as señorita Alacen entered the room, still limping but moving more easily thanks to a cane Don Alejandro had lent her.

" _Buenos dias Señores,_ " she greeted them. "Don Alejandro, thank you again for your gracious hospitality. I spent an excellent night."

" _Buenos dias_ to you too, Señorita, and thank you again" he replied. "Please, have a seat..."

" _Mil gracias,_ Don Alejandro."

She sat down and the conversations resumed. Diego lost the thread of these a bit, lost as he was in his thoughts. He was expecting yet an umpteenth paper from Monterey, a document he needed for Felipe's adoption procedure, and he'd also been asked a number of papers from Felipe's parish of origin. He was therefore currently writing letter after letter to explain at great length to whom it may concern that he had none of these papers in his possession and couldn't ask for those because he didn't know what parish exactly Felipe was born in and the boy himself didn't remember it either.

To sum it up, all this would still take a long time, but as Felipe was under twenty-one his mere consent, although necessary, was not sufficient to the matter.

_Anyway,_ Diego sighed inwardly, hopefully we will be able to finally officialise things _before_ he's twenty-one!

In the meanwhile, he was eagerly and diligently keeping an eye out for each arrival of mail to the pueblo by the stagecoach. And indeed, he intended to go there this very morning.

Meanwhile, the topic of the library had been brought up again, and Diego caught up with the conversation just in time to grasp what it was currently about.

"...show you all around the hacienda this morning, and Diego will show you the library and the treasures it contains."

"Truth be told, Father," Diego moderated, "I must go to the pueblo this morning, I have an errand to run there. And then I have also somewhat neglected the _Guardian_ these last three days, I have a bit of catching up to do. But I'm sure Felipe will do the honours of our library to the señorita and will be an excellent replacement for me..."

Felipe, still very much amused by the situation, nevertheless notified his consent with a nod of his head.

_'If the señorita has no objection,'_ he added through signs directed at Diego so that he'd translate for Luz.

"Not at all, Don Felipe, not at all. I will be glad for you to show me the library."

Felipe barely held back a start, just like Diego and Alejandro, incidentally. It was the first time ever anyone called him 'Don' Felipe. And yet, yes, that was how some people might call him once Diego had adopted him! He had never thought about that until then.

_Bah!_ he immediately decided, for what very little a honorary title would change to the person he was...

Luz, for her part, picked up on a point Diego had mentioned in passing.

"What is this _Guardian_ you talked about, Don Diego?"

"Oh, yes, of course," he replied. "This is our pueblo's newspaper," he explained.

"And Diego is its editor," Don Alejandro pointed out with an unusual hint of pride in his voice.

"A newspaper!" she exclaimed. "You publish a newspaper? Oh, how fascinating!"

Luz kept on asking questions about the newspaper, about its topics, themes and columns as well as about the articles currently still in progress. Don Alejandro was beaming and Felipe was smiling amusedly; he also took part in the conversation by providing his own answers that Diego translated.

At some point in the conversation, Luz began to carefully look at Felipe's gestures, a both perplexed and bewildered look on her face.

"I had indeed heard of gestured languages developed intended to deaf-and-dumb people," she said suddenly, "but until now I had never got the opportunity to witness a live demonstration of it."

Seeing her hosts surprised by her sudden change of subject, Luz realised that she had perhaps unintentionally offended them by addressing so directly the young man's disability, so she immediately offered an apology. Once again, she thought, she had spoken without considering first the potential impact her words could have on other people's susceptibility.

"Please forgive me," she told them, "I didn't mean to offend you in any way Don Diego, Don Felipe. Quite the contrary in fact, I am rather impressed."

"Don't worry Señorita," Diego replied, "we know that you had absolutely no intention to offend Felipe."

"Thank you Don Diego, you're lifting a weight off my shoulders. I would have hated for us to have a misunderstanding over this, even though that wouldn't be unheard of me."

_I would have hated it even more!_ Don Alejandro thought.

No sooner had she finished her sentence than Luz gasped and raised her hand to her mouth, open-eyed, utterly dismayed to realise she had just used the word 'unheard'. _Hopefully they haven't noticed._

"I must say I am impressed," she went on. "Not only is your son able to read lips, but he can also express ideas and concepts that go beyond the mere human basic necessities through an entirely gestural language! Like a language in its own right! This is truly stupendous!"

Once again, it annoyed Diego that she addressed _him_ to say that, and not Felipe himself.

"I assure you, Señorita, you can talk directly to Felipe, he'll understand you perfectly!"

"Oh yes, please forgive me Don Felipe," she told him slowly, turning to the young man.

"We're aware it takes some getting used to," Don Alejandro chimed in to soften the rather terse tone his son had just used toward her. "Don't worry, we can understand that speaking directly to someone who cannot hear doesn't come naturally at first, and that it will require some adapting. But I'm sure Felipe understands this and doesn't hold it against you, right?"

Felipe smiled benevolently at the señorita to tell her that indeed, he didn't resent her. Luz didn't need any translation to understand this language and smiled back to express her gratitude.

"And it's really remarkable," she said, careful to look straight at him, "that you and your father have mastered that much _both_ spoken language and sign language."

She turned to Diego:

"Do you really understand _everything_ he says?"

"Practically," Diego answered. "But sometimes he speaks too fast, I have to tell him to slow down. And he can sometimes be a real chatterbox, you know," he added, casting a knowing glance and a teasing smile at the young man. To the point that I can hardly get a word in edgeways!"

Felipe made a show of rolling his eyes to express how little he made of his father's teasing, but he smiled to show he didn't resent him and could take a joke.

"But tell me," she said, "this sign language you use... is it the one that's been developed by Abbot de l'Épée?"

"You know of his work?" Diego asked, surprised.

In a sense, he thought, it shouldn't surprise him that much. She seemed to be well aware of the innovations and discoveries of these last fifty years.

"Not only that," Diego went on to answer Luz's question. "We also drew on Juan Pablo Bonet and Pedro Ponce de León. But yes, we greatly took inspiration from his works."

"You mean..." Luz began, "you... you've developed _yourself_ the language you use? The two of you?"

"More or less," Diego answered. "Yes," he added, "somehow... But we largely tapped into what others had done before and adapted it to our needs and our situation."

"Once again my son is too modest, Señorita," Don Alejandro chimed in. "He has done a great job with Felipe, and not just about language. He took care of him after he lost his parents, felt lost and had lost his hearing, he took him under his wing somehow; then he taught him to read and write, and later when he came back from Spain he took over his education and instruction again, making him the young man he now is. I'm very proud of the father my son has become."

Diego blushed to the tip of his ears, unaccustomed as he was to his father's praise. Deep down he regretted that part of what prompted his father to speak so highly of him was his desire to make him look good in an eligible woman's eyes, but in his heart he also knew that _those_ compliments were sincere: Don Alejandro had never criticised him over the way he (partially) raised Felipe, and had instead always happily supported him in this task. And hearing him now say that he was a good father was indeed the best compliment Don Alejandro could ever pay his son, and Diego swelled out his chest a bit.

Then, regaining his usual countenance, he went on:

"Father de l'Épée's language is a bit too linked to the syntax of the French language, so since Felipe didn't know French we had to adapt it to Spanish..."

"A whole language..." Luz marvelled, "this is truly incredible. So you can manage to express any idea through gestures in that language?"

_Almost,_ Felipe replied with a hand gesture she understood. Then he added something else which meaning she didn't grasp. She therefore looked questioningly at Diego.

"He said that the most frustrating part is when he actually _can_ express what he means using this language, but people in front of him don't understand."

"Yes, I can relate to that..." she replied. "I have a rough idea of how it must feel: sometimes an idea, a concept is very clear in my mind, but the people I try to explain it to don't know the specific vocabulary used to express this idea, or they don't even grasp the basic concepts upon which it relies, to begin with. It's therefore very frustrating. But of course I guess this is a very small frustration compared to the one you must experience sometimes."

Felipe nodded.

"To tell you the truth, Don Diego, Don Felipe, I'm quite curious about that language you use and have developed. I find this absolutely fascinating. Dare I ask you to try to teach me some basics during my stay here? Well, if that's not too much inconvenient to you, of course. I'm aware that you both have probably much to do."

"Diego has all the time in the world, Señorita," Don Alejandro replied, exceptionally almost pleased with his son's usual idleness. "I am sure he will be happy to share some of his knowledge and talent with you."

Diego had no other choice but to accept. And anyway, he thought slyly, he could probably at some point in the process 'stick' her with Felipe on the pretext of some practical conversational exercises, while he'd go his separate way: he really didn't want to add grist to his father's mill. The sooner Don Alejandro would understand there was nothing to expect from the señorita's presence under their roof, the better for everyone involved. Or rather _not_ involved. And there would be no involving _at all!_

"But for now, I have to go to pueblo this morning," Diego said, rising to his feet. "Felipe, I entrust you with the care of our guest and with the task to do the honours of our library."

And with a little luck, he thought, she might find there some good book in which she'd bury herself during her convalescence, and which would make her forget this sudden whim about getting acquainted with sign language.

"To tell you the truth Don Diego, and if that's not too much inconvenient to you, I would like to go to pueblo too. I need to see the padre, which I couldn't do yesterday because I had to rest in my room."

_The padre?_ Felipe and Don Alejandro wondered What sins could she have committed since she arrived in Los Angeles and regained consciousness just the day before? Sins serious enough for her to feel the need to talk to the padre no later than this morning? Couldn't she wait until Sunday?

"Are you quite sure you're fit enough for that, Señorita?" Don Alejandro asked, concerned. "You're still recovering..."

"I feel fit enough for a short walk outside, don't worry. And with your cane I can move with more ease, thank you again for that. I promise not to overdo things. As soon as I'm done with the padre, I'll go and obediently sit down in the tavern, where I'll quietly wait for Don Diego, I promise! And after lunch I'll go back to bed and stay there all afternoon; is that all right with you?"

"Very well," Don Alejandro conceded without even checking with his son, but first and foremost Diego will take you to Dr. Hernandez's, so that the doctor examines you, I insist."

"Fine," she agreed, "it will also give me the opportunity to thank him and settle what I owe him."

"Don't worry about that Señorita," Don Alejandro told her, "Diego already took care of it".

Luz turned to Diego and told him:

"You'll tell me how much I owe you, and don't protest, we've already had this discussion."

Not particularly eager to engage in endless protestations, Diego wisely nodded, despite his father's obvious disapproval.

"I'm going to give orders to get the carriage ready," he said. "We leave in half an hour, if that's all right with you Señorita."

"Your schedule will be mine, Don Diego. After all, I'm the one who's imposing on you..."

_You can say that again_ , Diego thought without letting his face give anything away. And here he now had to have a carriage hitched up instead of just saddling his horse and ride to the pueblo!

"Good," he simply answered, "until then, Felipe, if you'd be kind enough to show the señorita around the hacienda..."


	32. Ch 32

Before leaving for the pueblo, Diego made the most of having a few minutes of free time to go down to the secret cave and take care of Tornado. Felipe was still busy keeping company to their guest, and for nothing in the world would Diego have wanted to trade places with him: rather sweeping the entire cave and cleaning up Tornado's stall than bringing water to the mill of his father's matrimonial designs!

When the time came to go back upstairs and enter the hacienda through the library's secret passage, he heard a voice coming from the other side of the fireplace's secret panel. A woman's voice.

He suppressed an annoyed sigh: damn! as if it wasn't enough that his father was trying hard to set him up with her, now she was preventing him from going to and fro as he pleased between the cave and the hacienda, between his two lives. From juggling both of his identities, both parts of his being.

But then, Diego admitted, he had _himself_ asked Felipe to show her around the house, and he had even insisted on the library, so...

Well, this time, he couldn't blame anyone but himself...

He looked through the spyhole, and sure enough Señorita Alacen was there, engaged in conversation with Felipe; or at least she was _trying_ to have a conversation with him, a task made difficult by the trouble she was having understanding his signs.

Felipe was standing sideways to the fireplace, so Diego could see, according to his gestures, that he was thanking the señorita. But what for, precisely? This, Diego couldn't know, Felipe didn't specify it. 

Luz, as for her, didn't understand.

"Excuse me," she was telling him, "I don't understand what you mean..."

Felipe repeated, but she didn't get it any better. She let out a frustrated sigh. 

"If only you knew how stupid I feel for not understanding anything of what you're telling me!"

Felipe shook his head, which she understood, and pointing a finger at her head he added that she was not stupid, a gesture which meaning was totally lost on her.

Then, suddenly pointing his index finger vertically between them, Felipe seemed to have an idea and signalled her to wait a minute. He then walked to a corner of the library where Diego knew was a writing desk and came back with a pen, an inkwell and a sheet of paper he put on a table nearby.

"Excellent idea," Luz exclaimed.

He hastily scribbled a few words on the paper he then handed her.

"Oh, don't mention it," she replied once she read it. At dinner last night I gathered that you'd rather pass over this part of the story in silence."

Then immediately, Diego saw her hastily put her hand to her mouth, her palm to her lips,looking horrified.

"Oh _Dios_ , I'm so sorry!" she cried out. "I didn't mean to say 'silence', I meant... well... you know... I meant 'keep quiet abou–'... Oh, my God, no!"

Beet-red with embarrassment, she stopped short and hid her face in her hands, realising that this wording was hardly more appropriate than the previous one.

Felipe tried to get her attention by putting his hand on her arm. She lowered her hands slowly and looked at him hesitantly.

Now he had his back to the library once again and made a sign that Diego didn't see and Luz didn't get.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," she said. "I'm really sorry, I've been clumsy, I didn't mean to mock or hurt you, I swear!"

Diego saw Felipe shrug and then scribble something else on the paper.

"Thank you," she said with a slightly guilty smile after she read it. 

An awkward silence fell over them. Then she forced herself to break it and told him: 

"Listen–"

Again she paused, open-mouthed, her eyes bulging.

"Oh God gracious, no! Not again!" she exclaimed, hiding her face once again. "I swear I'm not doing it on purpose," she then added. "It's only that... well, these expressions are so ingrained in everyday language that–" 

She stopped short, looking at Felipe's reaction with a dumbfounded expression on her face.

All what Diego could see of it was that his shoulders were shaking with slight jerks. _My God,_ he thought, had the señorita's blundering language and insensitivity made him cry?

Luz, for her part, was staring at him, gaping. And then, frowning, she spoke again:

"Tell me, young man... are you... Would you by any chance be laughing at me?"

Diego saw Felipe raise his hand a little above his shoulder and spread his thumb and index finger half an inch apart: 'a little', was he answering her.

This sign, the señorita understood it very well and made a show of acting offended. With a falsely disapproving look on her face that couldn't completely hide her amusement, she said:

"Fair enough, I suppose. But Don Felipe, it's hardly charitable of you to make fun of me in this conversation where I am so clearly at a disadvantage."

Felipe took the pen and added something on the paper before handing it to her again.

"Well, yes," she replied by way of explanation, "you understand everything I say, while I am as helpless in front of your language as a three-years-old before a piece of writing!"

Another awkward silence.

"Anyway," she went on. "All right, I'm willing not to say anything to anyone about it, not even to your father or your grandfather, but on the condition that you promise me not to do anything like that ever again."

 _But what on earth is she talking about?_   Diego wondered. Felipe, as for him, seemed to know it perfectly and nodded in agreement.

"Good," she said. "After all, no one needs to know... Besides, if only out of consideration for your father and grandfather who were so helpful and generous to the complete stranger I am to them, it would probably be better not to let word get out–"

She paused, wincing again at her poor choice of words.

"And for now, what is done is done," she added. "Let's keep this to ourselves, and let's put it behind us."

Again he nodded and lowered his head a bit, visibly embarrassed.

"Good," she said briskly, "now with your permission, it's time I took my leave, I don't want to make your father wait..."

And leaning on her cane for support, she was about to leave the library when Felipe grabbed her right arm to hold her back. She turned quickly to him and looked at the young man's hand encircling her elbow; Felipe let go of her immediately, as if he had just burned his hand. He was standing sideways to the fireplace again and Diego could see him ask the señorita if she forgave him.

And again, she didn't understand. Felipe grabbed the paper again, probably wrote down his question on it, and with a huge question mark painted all over his face he showed it to her. After she read it Luz looked away, lowered her eyes, and then she jabbered:

"I... I don't know.... likely... probably... It's a bit early..."

Felipe's face fell.

"For now I can just promise you that I won't say a word about it as long as I'm not asked anything specific... But don't ask me to deliberately lie! I can't stand downright lies. Let's say that in this case it's just... an _omission?_   Now I have to go, your father must be waiting for me."

And she left the room.

Diego, still standing on the other side of the wall, wondered what Felipe had hidden from him that the señorita was aware of. Something Felipe thought he had to seek forgiveness for.

And most importantly: why didn't Felipe tell _him_ anything about it, whatever this _it_ was?

Not wanting Felipe to know he had witnessed this strange and puzzling scene, Diego waited a whole minute before emerging from the secret passage to catch up with their guest and take her to the pueblo.

Suddenly he was glad to be able to spend some time alone with her: perhaps, despite the rather ambiguous promise she had just made to Felipe, he'd manage to worm it out of her?


	33. Ch 33

On the way, no matter how hard Diego was trying, he failed to make Luz say what she apparently was passing over in silence. And yet it was not for lack of trying.

"And besides," he was now saying as a bump on the road caused his passenger to wince in pain, "I am glad that light has been completely shed on your unfortunate encounter with Felipe. Because everything is now clarified, isn't it? There isn't any grey area around that anymore?"

Taking his eyes off the road for a split second he peeked a discreet glance at her: her right hand was supporting her left elbow, pinning her arm against her chest. Diego took pity on her: she had probably overestimated her condition and the unevenness of the road was transmitted to the cart, and then to its passengers, and apparently went straight up to her injured shoulder.

She was pressing her lips together: was it due to a – vain – attempt not to let her pain show, or an effect of the frustration she felt at Diego's strange question?

"The misunderstanding is indeed cleared up," she finally answered with a benevolent smile, "and I feel as happy as you do about it. Now we can all forget everything about this, and go on with our lives, in our respective ways. Or at least, I'll be able to go on mine as soon as I am fit enough to ride again."

She was quite good, acknowledged Diego who couldn't help but note that she managed not to answer either yes or no to his questions. _'Don't ask me to deliberately lie'_ he remembered she told Felipe. And for now she was keeping to it perfectly.

Diego started to realise it would be much more difficult to get her to talk than it was with Mendoza, especially when the sergeant was hungry or had a dry throat.

"Felipe too is very grateful to you," he said. "But he has probably already told you as much himself..."

"Yes indeed," she answered. "We managed to exchange a few words before I joined you for this short jaunt to the pueblo. Well, when I say 'words'..." she paused a bit. "And I have to admit it was quite arduous. I'm afraid I'm not very good at understanding him..."

However, she was good at evading questions, Diego thought. Oh, yes, she was very good. And good at changing the subject of conversation too. He was starting to realise that he would have a harder time with her than he first believed he would.

In a sense he was feeling a little less annoyed at this idea that he should have, he noticed with a touch of surprise; but truth be told, the player in him didn't dislike a bit of a challenge from time to time, and for this very one, he seemed to have found an opponent worthy of himself.

 _'I won't say a word about it as long as I'm not asked anything specific'_ she had also promised Felipe.

 _'As long as I'm not asked anything specific'_... This last part echoed in Diego's mind, the problem being that precisely he didn't know what on earth could this 'something specific' on which questioning her be about... In short, he was going round in circles, and in this game she had elements he didn't have at his disposal.

It was not quite true, he suddenly reflected: there was at least one thing he knew that she was unaware of: he knew she was hiding something about Felipe, something he _did_ , and she didn't know he was trying to worm it out of her.

At least she didn't know it _yet_ , provided he hadn't just given himself away with his seemingly trivial yet leading questions. And if he wasn't careful to remain as subtle as possible, he would lose this only advantage he had over her.

Of course, another far more direct and straightforward approach would have been to downright tell her that he knew that she hadn't told him everything and that she and Felipe were hiding something else, and to ask her point blank what it was. This would certainly qualify as 'specific' to her, and perhaps would she answer his question.

Only this plan, as simple and effective as it might seem, had a huge flaw: the señorita would surely wonder how Diego could have gotten word of this while he clearly didn't happen to be in the library at this time, and was even supposed to be far away from there when she had her conversation with Felipe. And finding a credible explanation that didn't involve the existence of a secret passage behind the fireplace would prove to be tricky, since as nobody else passed by the library at that time no one could have reported to him this part of their conversation.

So he decided to pause in throwing questions at her, even indirect ones; but he continued talking to her about Felipe, hoping all the same that in the course of the conversation she would lower her guard and let the beginnings of a clue slip out.

That's how when Diego stopped the carriage in front of the church, walked around the wagon and held out his hands to help her down, she knew everything or almost everything of the circumstances under which Felipe had lost his parents, lost his hearing and met Diego, whereas Diego for his part had learned nothing more than what he already knew about the encounter between Felipe and señorita Alacen.

She hadn't said anything either of the reasons that caused her to want to see the padre, letting them believe – yet without having ever said so – that she was seeking his spiritual support, his prayers, or wanted to confess. It was only because Diego had read her private correspondence that he knew she had something else to discuss with him.

Yes, she was pretty good at letting people believe what they assumed, but was probably much helped in this by the fact that people were generally quite prone to make assumptions and preconceived ideas.

He made a mental note to always remember this about her, as long as she was staying at their hacienda: she seemed to be making a very clear distinction between lying by commission and lying by omission. And if she seemed highly reluctant to the former, at least according to what she told Felipe, her conscience appeared to far better come to terms with the latter. Perhaps was she offloading the blame for this on the fact that the fault partly rested with others, according to the well-established principle stating that _'anyway people will always believe and assume whatever they want, I'm not responsible for that'_. Morally questionable, perhaps, but hardly challengeable from a purely logical point of view.

And after all, Diego reflected with renewed lucidity, when it came to lying, himself could hardly act as moral authority, of paragon of virtue!

He was escorting the señorita to the door when the padre came out of the church and, surprised, greeted them:

"Oh, _buenos dias!_ I was about to go out for an errand, Diego, but if you're here to see me, I can postpone it..."

" _Buenos_ _dias, padre,_ " he replied. "Actually, I'm not here for..."

He paused. The padre was looking at the newcomer: of course in such a small pueblo any unusual event spread out by word of mouth, and although he was absent at the time, the padre couldn't not have heard of the young woman's eventful arrival, nor of her ensuing stay at the de la Vegas'.

Another far more disturbing thought made its way through Diego's mind: two young people, one of whom was invited by the other's family, were coming together to see the priest: perhaps the padre was expecting them to have come here to talk about marriage?

 _Oh no,_ Diego thought, _not him too! For pity's sake!_

But the padre had now turned to the señorita:

"What can I do for you, my child?"

Her answer surprised Diego:

" _Buenos_ _dias,_ Father; are you Padre Benitez?"

Well well, Diego wondered, _she doesn't even know him by sight? So they have never met?_

"Indeed I am, my child," he confirmed. "Can I help you with anything?"

"I'm Luz Alacen, padre. You've invited me to come to see you and to visit the mission whenever it would suit me... I'm sorry to turn up here unannounced, but I thought that anyway I'd travel as fast as any letter I would have sent... Obviously I couldn't know that some setback would hold me up..."

"Oh, yes, of course! I'm glad you came, my dear daughter. So you're the one to whom happened this unfortunate mishap that the whole pueblo has been talking about since I came back yesterday!"

Unable to come up with any pretext as to why he should impose any longer, Diego took his leave of them and didn't hear the rest of their conversation as they entered the church. He went back to the carriage, grabbed the reins and led the horse to where it wouldn't block the way; then he went about his business and saw to his obligations for the _Guardian_ while waiting for the mail-coach.


	34. Ch 34

Settled on the porch of the tavern, sipping a glass of barley water, Luz was deeply lost in thought.

The good news of that morning was that the doctor had declared her fit enough to resume a minimum of activity, even though he frowned a little at seeing her already back in town the very day after she regained consciousness.

But the cut on her thigh was clean, neat and on the path of healing. The doctor could only approve of the use of the cane, and his only reservations concerned the state of her left shoulder, still very painful though she tried to minimise it. He wasn't too happy either to see her roam the streets while tiredness still lay in wait for her, but she made him the same promise as to Don Alejandro: she would spend the afternoon in bed, and would try to sleep until supper.

Squinting at some nothingness before her eyes, Luz intensified her thoughts: she now had a decision to make that would affect her life for the coming few years. She had probably not to decide right away, but should do so in the coming weeks.

The padre was a pleasant and kind man, open-minded and, icing on the cake, he seemed to have an interest in some of the natural sciences – she had seen on one of his bookshelves several volumes of Buffon's _Histoire Naturelle_.

The mission, although small, was well run and organised. But the increasing number of children attending the mission school made the task difficult for the padre.

The pueblo itself was small, but as she had told her hosts just the day before, she found its people welcoming. And by far, the friendliest and most accommodating of those she had met so far was Don Alejandro, a most charming host who welcomed her under his roof as if she was some relative to him, while he absolutely didn't have to, while he didn't know her and expected nothing from her.

Kindness itself, she thought. Selflessness itself.

His son too had taken good care of her, although she sensed in him much more reserve than in his father. A question of temperament, surely. Besides Don Alejandro had pointed it out himself: Don Diego liked his privacy and keeping to himself a few hours a day, which she could absolutely understand: after all, she too was a bit like that herself. And even more since she was alone and had come to live in the colonies.

Yes, privacy and quiet were good, not feeling observed, gauged, judged, forced to play an act and make small talk, keeping a bit to oneself and to one's passions a few hours a day felt good. The tricky part of it, the sword of Damocles that constantly hung over her and surely over Señor de la Vega too, was not to shut oneself away into it. Passions were often poor counsellors in relationships to others.

But Don Diego had been very civil and helpful, even sociable, ever since she met him the day before. Which was admittedly a bit short to judge a character, but she had already been able to judge his erudition and was delighted to have found here someone with whom she could talk and discuss topics that truly interested her and made her look strange – at best – or eccentric in the eyes of the people she has met and socialised with since she set foot in California. Or in the Americas in general. In brief, since she left her usual circle of acquaintances in Barcelona.

More than ever, she knew that this incursion in the Americas would be just an interlude, an intermission, and that she would go back to the homeland one day, that she'd return to Barcelona in a few years. But not right now. She wasn't ready yet.

The war back there had ended the year before, certainly, but immediate post-war times were always filled with settlings of scores of all kinds, revenges or personal interests taking advantage of the general movement to get satisfied with complete impunity. She didn't want this atmosphere any more than she wanted the one which had led her to leave Barcelona.

And she had then left Ciudad de Mexico that was still quiet but around which throbbed several hotbeds of an insurgency turning into an independentist yet conservative revolution, to live in a more peaceful California. Still peaceful, but until when?

For the moment, and even though the intellectual and cultural life here had nothing in common with those of the big cities she had known, lived and grown up in, she didn't intend to leave right then.

And getting back to her immediate considerations, the pueblo de Los Angeles seemed welcoming, and taking part – even moderately so – in developing its inhabitants' spirit of openness and intellectual curiosity could be interesting. Even if it meant first and foremost going back to the most basic knowledge, and spreading it...

Yes, Los Angeles seemed a pleasant place, and its people seemed charming and hospitable. Particularly the de la Vegas. As well as this very obliging corporal and this sergeant who had just led her to the stables when, departing slightly from the promise she made to Don Alejandro, she had taken a detour through the _cuartel_ between the mission and the tavern, because she wanted to check on her horse again.

Only señorita Escalante left her still a little puzzled. She didn't know what to expect from her. To Luz, she seemed a bit temperamental, sometimes charming and pleasant, sometimes cold and aloof, as if she didn't know herself how to behave toward Luz. _Oh well,_ the latter reflected, señorita Escalante had a changing mood, like everyone else, depending on her level of tiredness and her workload, that was all!

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

So, this woman was already back in her establishment, Victoria thought bringing señorita Alacen her glass. She was apparently waiting for Don Diego who she was to meet here, according to what she told Victoria. She had accompanied him to the pueblo, or was it the other way round? Anyway, they apparently came together, and just the two of them. Without either Don Alejandro or Felipe, or any other servant to accompany them.

Just the day before, the two of them didn't even know each other, and now they seemed to be as thick as thieves! Apparently they were like joined at the hip. Well, now that's what's called a sudden feeling!

But she was maybe getting a bit ahead of herself by calling it _feeling_. After all Don Diego was a very courteous man who was duty-bound to take care of his father's guests. How far would he take this sense of duty, that was the question. Where did this duty end, and where did the pleasure begin, that was another question worming insidiously its way in Victoria's spirit...

Not that it was any of her business, nor even of her concerns from a purely personal point of view, but well, she liked Don Diego and this man was sometimes too kind, not wary enough... a bit naive, in a word. And certainly even more so toward women.

Because to be honest, let's face it, Don Diego had _a priori_ only little experience of dating, flirtation and games of seduction, and he certainly wasn't wary enough of those that a woman could deploy toward him.

It was probably all because of his broken heart, in the aftermath of his star-crossed love affair with Zafira when he was still in Spain, and his being left at the altar due to events beyond their control and their desire to marry each other...

Or perhaps his secret obsession for a mysterious local woman whose heart was already taken was to blame for his lack of experience in romantic relationships... How sad, Victoria reflected, but since he was so sure that she – whoever she was – would never love him back, then he really should kiss this hopeless one-sided love goodbye – figuratively, of course – and move on with his life: he couldn't spend the rest of his life sighing for a woman who apparently didn't deserve him, since she hardly noticed his existence and his personal qualities!

Yes, he'd much better move forward to give himself a chance to be happy even so... and perhaps, precisely, had he lately made this very decision? Hence the current situation, now that he had crossed paths with someone who was a bit like him.

On the one hand, Victoria didn't want to see him unhappy, wasting his life pining for an unattainable woman. But on the other hand, she was concerned that a maybe not very scrupulous woman could one day take advantage of this kind man, _too_ kind, too malleable, too... ingenuous, so to speak. Victoria therefore felt duty-bound to protect him, against the world and perhaps even against himself; she truly did, even though his usual apathy had the knack of getting on her nerves and gave her an almost irrepressible urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him like a rag doll until he shows some reaction.

God, this man could be annoying, sometimes! But he was her friend, and one always had to watch one's friends' back. Even against their will. So she made herself the promise to keep an eye on this señorita Alacen, apparently charming and well-mannered – and educated, on top of that! – but who, without Victoria being able to put her finger on why, awoke in her a very slight sense of alarm as soon as she was with Don Diego.

Yes, Victoria thought inwardly, in addition to being a gentle and kind man, Diego de la Vega was mainly – and even _above all_ – a rich man, or at least he would be one day, as late as possible! In the meanwhile, he was a rich heir promising a pleasant and idle life to any gold digger who'd succeed in getting her hooks into him, as well as a prestigious name and a network of powerful connections and acquaintances to anyone who was trying to climb the social ladder.

Don Diego was really fair game, a prized prey at husband hunting, and as long as he had shown no interest in the women around him there was no need to worry for him. But if now the situation changed... if he no longer persisted in his self-imposed bachelorhood...

Yes, since he was certainly unable to keep an eye open for himself, someone would have to do it for him. Unbeknownst to him, and perhaps even _against_ him. But it was for his own good. Strictly out of sheer friendship...


	35. Ch 35

The conversation was animated between Don Diego and señorita Alacen. Or at least it was becoming animated on Luz's side as a result of her fourth glass of Rioja, while Diego was careful to only soak his lips in his from time to time, pretending drinking while as of yet it was still only his first glass of wine, of which he had barely swallowed two sips. A perfectly honed technique which he'd been practicing for years on Sergeant Mendoza and which had proven to be effective in extracting information from a source without arousing their suspicion.

He therefore decided to use it on señorita Alacen, since she had been careful to precisely measure her words during the outward journey. He needed her to lower her guard, so Diego stifled the qualms he had about applying this tactic not to a soldier of the king, but to a young woman. _Thank God,_ he thought, Don Alejandro wasn't here to see it! And if the lady's state when they get back to the hacienda wasn't too brilliant, he could still use strain, exhaustion and a resurgence of fever as a pretext, three good excuses she'd certainly be happy to seize to go straight to her room and lie down without even waiting for siesta time.

"You know, Don Diego," Luz was currently telling him in a voice now a bit stronger than the one normally used by persons of quality when they were in polite society, "I find really admirable how you chose to take care of that orphaned and disabled little boy. It was a courageous choice to decide to take him back with you and take care of him! I'm not sure I would have been able to. Anyway, I would of course have been far too young for that at the time!"

She punctuated her words with some abrupt movements of her hand, her finger pointed at him. _Good,_ Diego thought while noting Luz's slight changes of behaviour, _the veneer is starting to crack, vigilance gets lower, inhibition decreases, the wine is starting to take effect. But caution! Let's not rush her, she remains smart and lucid enough to become aware of the manoeuvre if I don't play it subtly enough..._

Again, he had steered the conversation back to Felipe, again he hoped that by taking his time, by talking about his past, they would end up talking about his present, or rather his immediate past.

A bit carried away by the three and a half glasses of wine she had already downed without realising it, as Diego was taking great care to fill her tumbler as soon as the level of Rioja in it lowered, Luz went on with a much lower voice:

"Thinking about it, this poor little boy... how he was certainly suffering! How miserable he must have felt!"

She paused and looked into her glass, her eyes unfocused, a bit sobered by the sad subject brought up.

Diego suddenly felt bad: the señorita was perhaps one of these people who made sad dunks.

"He's been very brave," Diego said just in order to say something.

"Seeing his parents' dead bodies..." she went on as though she had not heard him. "Both of them at the same time... It must have been horrible."

Here, Diego felt really not proud of himself, and he kept silent.

"And becoming deaf on top of that!" Luz continued. "How panicked he must have felt! Not understanding what was happening to him..."

She finally looked up from her glass and stared at Diego.

"When you think of the young man he has become," she added, "of what he has achieved, what you've _both_ achieved, it seems amazing! You can really be proud, Don Diego, of both yourself and him!"

  At this very moment, Diego, however, was very far from being proud of himself; he was nevertheless prouder than ever of Felipe. Except that the latter was hiding something from him, and despite señorita Alacen's chorus of praise he shouldn't lose sight that he was here, sitting with her at the tavern, only to discover what this "something" was.

"I'm indeed very proud of him," he answered, "and the day he will finally be officially and legally my son will be the happiest of my life; no one can dream of a more perfect and wiser son... don’t you agree, señorita?"

It was a bait, a line thrown at her, a hint, a hand held out to her, a little bit of all of these for her to take: he knew that Felipe had done something which apparently was far from being _perfect_ or _wise_ , and she knew it too. And what's more, she at least knew _what_.

"Who am I to doubt it?" she replied prudently. "You know him since he was a child and I have met him only a few days ago, have spent just a few minutes with him..."

 _Missed again,_ he thought. He masked his disappointment by pouring her another glassful of wine from the jug Victoria had brought them.

"I have to admit that much of the credit for what he is today goes to him," Diego said. "All I have done is trying to find a way for him to communicate with others, and I taught him to read and write since he couldn't hear nor speak. So that he'd be less isolated, less cut off from the others. Only... he has learned so fast that I thought it would be a shame to stop there: he was so willing, so eager to learn, to get knowledge..."

He paused. This time, and although he had hardly drunk anything, he was the one who was now lost in his memories, the one who was here almost like at confession. He went on:

"I remember, I thought myself already a man at the time, while in fact I knew so little yet... I was hardly older than Felipe is right now, come to think of that... I had myself still much to learn, and when I left for Madrid he asked me to teach him everything I'll have learned on my return..."

A nostalgic smile floated over his lips.

"It is certainly quite young, said Luz, but not that much: I was myself only twenty when I took almost the reverse road, leaving Barcelona and everything I knew there for Mexico. A sort of leap into the unknown..."

"What prompted this change of scenery?" Diego asked.

She looked at him for one second or two without replying immediately.

"Vicissitudes of life..." she simply said after this short pause.

She took a sip of wine as if to regain some composure and, more cheerful, she asked him:

"So when do you think you're to finalise this adoption?"

"Oh señorita, if only it were up to me!"

He said nothing more about it, but despite the wine-induced mist starting to fog her mind, Luz caught the note of regret and frustration in Diego's voice. Feeling bad for having brought up this sad thought in the conversation, she gave him a kind smile, although somewhat blurred by the vapours of alcohol. And that smile seemed so genuine that Diego could only return it.

At the same time Victoria brought them the second pitcher of wine Diego had ordered. She put it down in front of them with a bang, a sharp gesture and a reproachful glare aimed at Diego.


	36. Ch 36

Victoria couldn't believe it: it looked as though Diego de la Vega, one of the most honourable men of the pueblo, whose behaviour was a most irreproachable one, was trying to get a woman drunk!

 _Well I never!_ To think that a quarter of an hour earlier, she had made herself the promise to protect him from women... and now it seemed that she had to protect a woman against _him!_ She would have never expected that from him!

And that girl... seeing nothing of it, not suspecting anything! Anyway, one thing was for sure: considering the currently rather... overexcited state the señorita was in, it was absolutely out of the question that this time Victoria let him take her upstairs to one of the inn's bedrooms, and even less that she left him alone with her in there!

She was outraged at her friend. How on earth was it that Don Diego suddenly behaved like a real cad, like a man capable of taking advantage of a weakened woman? Since, why else than for the reason that came naturally to mind would a man make a young woman drink?

 _But,_ what little logic remained in Victoria's mind, suddenly objected, _why then do it publicly, in the pueblo, rather than quietly and inconspicuously at the hacienda?_

But the answer to that question was quite easy to guess: here, at the tavern, he was out of his father's sight, who would undoubtedly stop him from doing so, and of Felipe's, to whom he certainly didn't want to give this example!

Yes... but no! For if he got the señorita drunk and then took her to one of the tavern's bedrooms, it wouldn't fail to spread around the pueblo and come to the two men's ears... well, to Don Alejandro's ears and to Felipe's knowledge. Diego couldn't fail to be aware of that. So what?

"Did you see Felipe on the road _before_ you fell," Don Diego was currently asking señorita Alacen, "or did you see him only after, once you were on the ground and as he had stopped to give you assistance?"

What a strange question, Victoria thought. And what's more, what was the point? Luz, meanwhile, was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, seemingly also noting the incongruity of the question. Then almost immediately she replied:

"Oh, I admit I'm a little short-sighted, especially for objects that are situated very far away, yet not to the point of failing to notice a rider on a deserted road a hundred feet in front of me!"

 _Definitely good at taking roundabout ways in talking_ , Diego repeated inwardly.

"So," he insisted as he poured her another glassful, "you two had time to exchange a few words before your fall?"

"Exchanging a few words?!" Luz exclaimed a little too loud. "But... but at the time I didn't even know he was deaf and mute, so how could we have 'exchanged a few words?'"

 _Silly me!_ Diego thought inwardly. Of course! But he and Felipe communicated so easily that sometimes, for a split second and when his mind was focused on something else, he just happened to forget that Felipe didn't speak. To think that _she_ was the one who was drinking, but _he_ was the one who was talking nonsense!

"Of course," he finally let out, "how stupid of me..."

He noted that Luz didn't contradict him on that particular point but kept a polite silence on the matter, refraining however to agree with his statement, which would have been rather insulting to him.

"So your horse reared when Felipe was only a hundred feet from you... You really got lucky that someone happened to pass by right then. Thus, he was able to help you."

"Lucky..." she let out sceptically, snorting in a slightly disdainful and very unladylike manner. "Question of perspective..."

"Yes, of course," Diego corrected, "it's a manner of speaking. And then? What happened once you were on the ground?"

"But... exactly what I told you and repeated to the alcalde," she retorted with a hint of annoyance. "Nothing more, nothing less. Until I lost consciousness. Just ask your son, I'm sure he'll confirm."

And to punctuate her last sentence, she downed the rest of her glass in one draught before putting it back on the table a bit too loudly.

Diego was about to carry on questioning her when Victoria came to their table and addressed him:

"Don Diego, can I ask you to lend me a helping hand just for a minute, in the scullery?"

He looked up at her questioningly.

"Something heavy..." Victoria added before she turned to Luz. "Please allow me to borrow him for one minute or two, señorita..."

With a slightly shaky hand gesture, the latter indicated that she didn't mind. 'Please do', it seemed to mean.

Diego thus followed Victoria into the scullery where he asked her:

"So, where is–"

But he was interrupted by Victoria who swiftly turned to him and asked him accusingly:

"What do you think you're playing at, Don Diego?"

Taken aback, Diego didn't answer, didn't even have the presence of mind to ask her to repeat. He simply gawked at her, surprised and wide-eyed.

"Oh, don't play dumb, don't act all innocent, Diego de la Vega! I've seen through your little game. So, taking advantage of a lonely woman's blind trust, aren't we Diego? Of the confidence she placed in you, of the fact she has already let you in her bedroom, of my tavern being the most convenient place for you? Moreover, by coming here you almost make me your accomplice! That is low, Diego, that's very low. I would have never thought... You? You really are the last man on earth who I would have suspected to... to be... that he could be... that he was..."

She looked beside herself. Diego suddenly felt a cold shiver run down his back: did... was it possible that... that she knew...? Had she unmasked him?

This would explain her wrath: in addition to discovering that her dashing hero and devoted knight in shining black armour was in the end only the very disappointing Diego de la Vega, she felt he had made a fool of her, had played her, had manipulated her. That all those years spent pining for a shadow, not looking at any other man, ended up on a huge waste, an enormous nothing, a boundless disappointment.

And all of a sudden, to Diego, the Earth stopped turning. Despite the large empty hole just where his heart had still been beating only a few seconds earlier, Diego nevertheless tried in desperation to save the last thing that could possibly be saved: their friendship.

Then he plucked up his courage to try to look her in the eyes. With his face uncovered. He owed her that much.

"Look, Victoria," he began, "I can explain... I... I..."

"Explain? Oh, but I have no desire whatsoever to know all the sordid details, Diego! And besides, there's nothing to explain, it's unfortunately crystal clear, oh you... you..."

"Victoria, please!"

But she wasn't listening anymore. She was red with anger and indignation, and had almost tears in her eyes, out of rage or disappointment, or perhaps of both.

"I _trusted_ you, I would have entrusted you with my little sister with complete confidence if I'd had one! And you... you... all you think of is to get a woman weakened by disease to drink in order to indulge on her in your baser instincts! That's despicable, Diego de la Vega! That's–"

"WHAT?!" Diego yelled.

This had at least the effect of silencing her. Then he stammered:

"You... I don't... What's got–"

He paused, then turned his head toward the main room and the porch as if he could see Luz through the combined layers of walls of the scullery, the kitchen and the facade itself.

Victoria's reasoning made its way through his mind, and although he was a little bit relieved at the idea that Victoria hadn't discovered his most terrible secret, he felt absolutely outraged at the suspicions – no, worse, the certainties – she had just expressed toward him.

So it was his turn to get into a fury:

"HOW CAN YOU... Victoria! How dare you believe... Accusing me of... YOU! Victoria!"

"Oh, don't act all indignant, it doesn't suit you! You just try and tell me that you were not making señorita Alacen drink, uh?"

With her hands on her hips and her hair wild, she stepped closer to him, almost stepping on his feet. He didn't back away and kept his ground, just as furious as she was.

"I'M NOT the kind of man who'd abuse a weakened woman, who'd abuse a woman, full stop! Victoria, I thought you knew me at least a little bit, but obviously I was wrong, even more so than I thought!"

"Don't change the subject, Diego," Victoria retorted. "Just wait till Don Alejandro hears about your behaviour! I know exactly what I just saw! And this is despicable! You are getting the poor señorita drunk, under _my_ roof, with the wine _I_ served you! Just imagine how I'm feeling right now about that!"

"And you, just imagine what it's like to hear such accusations!" Diego retorted.

"And why, pray tell, would you make her drink," Victoria asked scathingly, "if not to take advantage of her?"

"To get her to talk, if you must know!" he replied straight back.

"And talk about what, exactly?" Victoria asked him rather aggressively.

"If only I knew it!" Diego exclaimed.

"Oh, really? Let me sum it up," Victoria told him. "You make a young woman drink to get her to talk, but you don't know exactly about what, as if you'd go fishing at random, anywhere, without knowing if there's any fish or not in that spot, and to top it all off you take great care to do this away from your father's and Felipe's eyes... And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"Victoria, I assure you–"

"Save your breath, Don Diego. And no, I won't rent you a room. Your doings highly disappoint me, Diego, on top of deeply disgusting me."

"But I swear, Victoria, I was only trying to get her to talk, nothing more. Besides, I don't even find her attractive," Diego added rather stupidly.

"A cad to the end, eh? And I don't believe a single word of your tale. I know what I've seen, I've seen it here dozens of times. Remember, I run a tavern, I didn't come down in the last shower. I thought you were different, but I was wrong about you. Now I would like you to leave my establishment. OUT!"

This time, angry tears were blurring her vision. She added:

"And remember, I don't like men who allow themselves to abuse a woman's weakness!"

She then muttered something that sounded a lot like 'never thought that of you', and Diego realised that she was in no condition to have a sensible discussion and that himself was so angry that he was likely to tell her things he didn't mean to say and would regret later. So he deemed it more prudent to comply for the time being.

However, he was hurt deep down inside, and he too would have 'never thought that of her' either.

So he beat a temporary retreat, but not without casting one last barb at Victoria:

"And you, remember that only forty-eight hours ago you suspected Felipe of exactly the same thing..."


	37. Ch 37

Once back at the hacienda, Luz picked up on Don Diego's suggestion that she'd go lie down in bed for an hour or so before lunch: she wouldn't have thought this trip to the pueblo would tire her so much! And yet, she had felt rather good earlier in the morning! But the doctor was probably right: she had overestimated her condition and overdid things a bit.

And perhaps did she overdo those few glasses of Rioja too... How much had she had, exactly? She then remembered words she heard Adrien say about good wine: it's when you don't remember how much you've already had of it that you know you've had too much.

Happy to get back to her bed, Luz slipped under the sheets and laid her slightly heavy head on the fluffy pillow with sheer delight. She briefly thought of señorita Escalante and of her almost insistent offer that she'd stay at the inn for lunch and siesta rather than riding back to the hacienda with Don Diego. An offer which Luz had politely declined: if so, how would she had gone back to the de la Vegas' afterwards without making Don Diego or one of his servants come out to the pueblo once again?

Anyway, this offer had sounded quite strange to her, but still less so than the señorita's insistence. Yes, this woman seemed definitely really odd: one moment she was giving you the cold shoulder as if you had personally done her some wrong like killing her horse or something, and the next moment she was treating you like you were family and took care of you like a considerate big sister...

Hmm...yes, Luz definitely didn't know where to stand with her, and wondered which of these two kinds of diametrically opposed treatments she would be on the receiving end of from her, next time they cross path with each other...

But for now, Luz was too heavy-headed or too foggy-minded to think about all this any longer, and soon the bliss of a cottony nothingness seized her mind and body.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

When lunchtime came a maid went to inform Luz that the meal was about to be served, and she found her sound asleep. Don Alejandro therefore decided to let her take her much needed rest and ordered the servants not to rouse her.

After siesta, Felipe had spent much of the afternoon helping in the stables, then once back inside he had originally thought spending some time with Diego: the latter had told him earlier in the morning that he needed his assistance on one of his experiments.

But ever since his return from the pueblo Diego had been very morose and had barely uttered three words during lunch. After siesta he had said he needed to take a ride to get some fresh air, and when Felipe offered to accompany him, he had replied that he wanted to be alone for a while.

It was unusual enough for Felipe to be surprised, and Diego had indeed gone for a ride on Esperanza, unlike some other times when "getting some fresh air" actually meant riding Tornado.

Don Alejandro had just gone outside too, so Felipe was aimlessly wandering in the hacienda, attending to one task and then another, helping here and there when, remembering Señorita Alacen's desire to learn the basics of sign language, he thought it would be as good a way as any to kill time without thinking about Diego's unusual and actually slightly hurtful attitude.

Or if she wasn't feeling up for a lesson, perhaps she'd be disposed to play a game of chess or draughts?

Once in the corridor leading to the room she occupied, Felipe was about to knock on her door and wait for her to open it – as of course he couldn't answer the inevitable _"who's there?"_ or _"yes,_ _what is it?"_ which would necessarily ensue, nor even show that he had heard it – when, just as he reached her bedroom, he heard very regular snores, all the more faint that they were muffled by the walls and the door, but snores all the same; he smiled: truth be told, it really was the first time he'd ever heard a woman snore. Then he blushed a little bit at that thought: after all, that wasn't as if he was used to be near a woman asleep, of course!

Then, wondering what Diego would do if he had one or two idle hours ahead, Felipe found a possible answer to this question and walked to the library where he took a book and sat in front the fireplace.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

When she roused from her slumber and realised she had slept six hours in a row without reappearing to the eyes of her gracious hosts, Luz felt a little bit sheepish.

During supper, Don Alejandro had been as charming and affable as usual, and his future grandson just as well, but Don Diego for his part had been more sullen than ever. He barely said a word in the course of the whole meal and disappeared God knows where as soon as they got up from the table.

Don Felipe had signed that he felt tired and wanted to go to bed early, yet he didn't leave toward the bedrooms but headed for the library.

Don Alejandro had mentioned earlier at breakfast the possibility that Diego offered their guest a tour of their gardens at dusk, a time when with the temperature lowering, flowers gently exhale their scent, preparing for the coming night. But Don Diego had probably forgotten about it, as he was no longer there to act as her guide.

"Oh, that boy, really!" Don Alejandro grumbled, noting that his son had left Luz high and dry. "I'll never manage to know what is going through his head!"

"That's nothing, Don Alejandro," Luz told him to put his mind at rest.

Anyway, she somehow didn't really want to find herself one-to-one with a moody and gloomy Don Diego who clearly had absolutely no desire whatsoever to make polite small talk tonight.

"Still, señorita... I apologise on my son's behalf. But it's only postponed, not cancelled; tomorrow Diego will certainly be disposed to give you a tour of our gardens..."

"Oh, but why wait until then?" Luz exclaimed. "Why wouldn't you stand in for your son right now?"

Don Alejandro looked a little bit surprised at first. Then he smiled:

"It is very kind of you, Señorita," he answered, "to grant some of your time to an old man like me. But wouldn't you rather spend time with young people your age rather than with an old man who may bore you stiff?"

"You certainly don't bore me, Don Alejandro," she replied, "and if I may be so bold as to say so, I forbid you to utter such nonsense: I have known people as much advanced in age as you are and whose company was much more interesting than that of many a young coxcomb!"

"In this case, and if you are not afraid of having to chitchat with an old man who could be your father..."

Saying this, Don Alejandro proffered his arm to her. She clung to it – _hung_ , almost, so that her weight wouldn't bear down too heavily on her injured leg – while telling him:

"Gladly, Don Alejandro! But forgive me for not thinking about this earlier: perhaps you did have other obligations tonight than to keep me company! If so, please don't hesitate to tell me so, I wouldn't want to monopolise you..."

"Not at all, my dear, not at all. Come and I'll present you our rosery, to begin with..."

And he led her outside.

After the rosery, Don Alejandro showed her the patio where they sat a few minutes to bask in the cooler evening temperature and enjoy the rosy sunset. Then in the growing darkness, they made their way back to the front door. Once near the hacienda's gate, Luz thought she caught sight of something, far off, out of the corner of her eye. She stopped and turned outwards to the desert surrounding the hacienda.

"Is something wrong?" Don Alejandro asked her.

"I... I thought... it seemed to me... No, nothing."

Don Alejandro glanced at her slightly incredulously, clearly inviting her to give him a bit more details.

"I thought I saw some sort of shadow move out there. Something dark crossing the horizon. Very furtively. Perhaps a bat. Or a crow."

"Or a fox..." Don Alejandro suggested as for himself.

"No, it was black, I'm almost positive about that. Or dark, at least. But not tawny nor reddish, anyway!"

Don Alejandro had a small and enigmatic smile:

"We sometimes have a different kind of fox, around here..."

But he didn't add anything more enlightening and walked inside the hacienda muttering to himself:

"I really wonder what kind of prey he's hunting, this time."

He then turned to Luz.

"Come," he graciously told her, "let's see if we can get Diego to play a tune on the piano, will you? He's an excellent pianist, you'll see."

"If we can get hold of him at all, you mean!" Luz retorted, laughing.

Reassured to hear that their guest seemed not to take offense at his son's behaviour although it was bordering on discourtesy, Don Alejandro led her to the living room.


	38. Ch 38

Felipe had gone to the secret cave shortly after the end of the meal, sure to find Diego there. And indeed there he found him, sitting at the desk, half dressed in Zorro's clothes and half in his own: in the darkness of the cave, the bright white of his shirt contrasted strangely with the black of his pants which merged with the surrounding shadows. Only a small oil lamp was lit, standing on the table not far from him; it cast on the immediate surroundings a shy and flickering glow, verging more on a wavering halo than on a reassuring brightness.

Slumped on a stool, his elbow on the wooden table, Diego was sitting with his head leaning on his hand, half lowered, half-tilted to the side. Eyes lost far inside and staring into space, he didn't even budge when Felipe came in.

The young man knew since the morning, since Diego returned from the pueblo, that something was wrong. What had he learned there? Another machination by the alcalde? Other troubles to be expected? This would explain why at least Diego was putting on the Fox's black outfit. But not why he stopped right in the middle of it. Was the situation, whatever it was, so complicated that he was at a loss for a plan to solve it? But then why didn't he tell him anything? So far, they had always been stronger together before difficulties and adversity, so why was he therefore avoiding him since midday?

Or... problems with the adoption procedure?

At this thought, Felipe's throat constricted. However often he told himself that whatever officially occurred or not, nothing would change either the nature of the affection they had for each other or their personal relationship, since the day Diego had expressed the desire to make him his son in the eyes of the law and of everyone, Felipe had grown fond of that idea, had cherished it, and he surprised himself by looking forward to the day when all would finally be realised. Like a confirmation. Something that couldn't be taken from them. The fulfilment, the materialisation of this link between them. And of the bond he had also woven over the years with Don Alejandro, who for quite some time now served more as a grand-fatherly figure to him than as a patrón.

But for now, seeing Diego slouched and dejected, Felipe was even more worried for him than for himself: what could be weighing so heavily on him? What was making his shoulders slump that much?

Admittedly, the weight of their secret was huge, and Felipe himself knew that only too well – he too was paying the price for it everyday – but so far, Diego had always more or less put up with it, putting on a brave face. At least, if he sometimes felt a bit down or had bouts of frustration and anger, he had always overcome them and had never let things get him down to the point of not even trying to appear strong in front of him. _For_ him.

But now that Diego looked overwhelmed, Felipe felt it was his turn to be strong for both of them. But for that purpose, he needed to know what exactly was going on. To support him, he needed to know what Diego was faced with.

Felipe stepped forward and, softly, gently, he raised his own hand and laid it on his shoulder. Startled, Diego jumped slightly: apparently he hadn't heard him come down in the cave. He looked up at the young man and saw questioning written all over Felipe's face. Diego then tried to compose a more neutral expression before turning his head and abruptly getting up to walk to the stall and brush Tornado again, just for countenance and composure's sake. For far too long, he thought, he had been involving Felipe in his grown-up problems; he didn't want to pour out once again the overflow of his heart's frustration in the attentive and sympathetic ear of a young boy who was in no way responsible for the romantic troubles – the same ones time and again – he was struggling with.

But Felipe, knowing Diego very well after all these years, did not let himself be fooled by this nonchalance that looked so false compared with the sight he got of him when he entered the cave a few seconds earlier; slowly, he walked up to Diego who now had his back to him, and again he gently put a hand on the shoulder of the man he already almost saw as his father.

At first Diego stopped short what he was doing, his arm in mid-air, the brush still in his hand, but he didn't turn around. Feeling that he was about to resume his task – a quite useless one, moreover, Tornado's hair being already as shiny as an army horse's on a day of military parade – Felipe intensifying the pressure of his hand on Diego's shoulder, squeezing it a little bit more between his fingers, as if to both insist and reassure him.

Vanquished, Diego finally slowly turned towards him, an unreadable expression on his slightly tense face. With an almost imperceptible nod, Felipe invited him to confide in him. Diego then dropped the mask of indifference that he made forced himself wear on the young man's arrival and let out a heavy sigh, his head a little down.

Then he breathed in deeply before finally speaking:

"It's Victoria," he simply blurted out.

 _Oh,_ Felipe then thought, _Victoria, of_ course. As always, when his morale is low. Felipe promised to himself, once again, to be very cautious not to let himself ever fall in love.

With a squeeze on the shoulder, he encouraged Diego to go on.

"We had... words, this morning," he added. "It wasn't pretty" he then murmured.

Adding nothing more, he then walked back to the table, collapsed onto his chair and let out another sigh.

Felipe waited, but nothing more came out of Diego's mouth. What happened – apart from the usual – to get Diego to appear so affected?

Diego read the silent question in the young man's eyes and he looked away.

Meanwhile, the gears in Felipe's mind were running at full speed: if something that bad indeed occurred at the tavern earlier in the day, why had señorita Alacen acted tonight at dinner as if nothing had happened?

Had he promised Diego not to tell anything? But even in this case, she would surely have showed some awkwardness, some discomfort towards him or in his presence, and yet she had been in quite the same mood as the night before and the morning at breakfast, without anything seeming to affect her.

Then Felipe remembered that as soon as she came back to the hacienda, she had gone to bed without showing up for lunch or even the whole afternoon... After all, had she been made so uncomfortable by a dispute between Diego and Victoria that she had preferred to keep to herself and see no one?

But that didn't make any sense... The señorita was a total stranger to Diego and Victoria, so a quarrel between the two couldn't affect her to this point. And she seemed quite comfortable and carefree tonight... No, really, this track couldn't be made heads or tails of.

Felipe was still very puzzled, and this time he clearly asked Diego what happened. The latter then ran his hands over his face, sliding along the edges of his nose and lingering on the chin, before breathing in again.

"Victoria did..." he began. "At the time, I thought she had guessed my– _our_ secret, but no. She told me... she reproach me... Ffff, I think this is really the end of even our friendship. And after all, I resent her as well."

Felipe pointed a finger at Diego and quickly signed a short question.

"What do you mean, _'what have I done?'_ What makes you think that I'm the one who has done something, in this matter?"

Felipe put his hands on his hips, tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. _'Oh, because you're going to tell me that you have nothing to do with all this?'_ was he 'telling' him.

"But no! She... She imagined things all on her own. To think of what she dared to accuse me of!"

Felipe felt that this time it was really serious, and he stopped teasing him. Again, he asked Diego what happened, questioning him about what Victoria said that upset him that much.

Diego stared at the floor. This really wasn't stuff for youngsters his age, he thought. The boy was, after all, only nineteen. And it would remind Felipe exactly what himself had been accused of only four days earlier... But on the other side Diego was feeling heavy-hearted and needed to confide in someone. He then decided to provide him with the beginnings of an answer.

"Victoria... she said... she reproached me to... to want to take adv-... accused me of... Señorita Alacen... Victoria told..."

He paused, not wanting to say more. He looked up at Felipe, but the young man seemed completely lost.

"Victoria thinks... she accused me of trying to..."

He couldn't bring himself to utter these words aloud. But Felipe was still as much in the dark as moments before.

"... to..." Diego went on.

Another pause. Then softly, almost in a whisper, he finally let out:

"...to abuse the señorita."

Felipe opened wide bulging eyes. He then pointed a finger at Diego. _'You?'_ that gesture meant. This surprising bit of explanation left him more than puzzled. Then he made the sign that referred to Victoria and pointed his index finger to his temple, in a clear sign that, according to him, she had totally lost it.

"Of course, she is mistaken..." Diego saw fit to clarify.

 _But what_ _on earth had given Victoria this false impression?_ Felipe wondered. A question he immediately asked Diego.

The latter suddenly seemed rather embarrassed.

"Uh...!" he simply answered, making a helpless gesture with both hands.

Felipe insisted. Well, this absurd idea had not spontaneously grown in Victoria's spirit, just like that! There had to be something, a misleading appearance, just like what happened with himself and the señorita four days earlier on the Camino Real...

Diego took a sponge that was lying on the table and threw it angrily to a sidewall. Then, a bit hesitantly, he answered:

"Let's say... perhaps I... made her... drink a little..."

 _Victoria?_ Felipe couldn't believe it.

"No," Diego corrected with a hint of annoyance, "Señorita Alacen!"

 _Her?_ Felipe hadn't found a simple sign to refer to her yet, so he didn't express his amazement by repeating what Diego had just told him, but he was no less astounded.

 _But..._ _what for?_ he finally managed to ask Diego. Indeed, why on earth want to have her drunk?

Diego didn't answer right away and suddenly he stared very suspiciously at Felipe. Almost... accusingly. In the young man's eyes, this really took the cake! To throw him a look of undeserved reproach, when he was only trying to understand and help! When Diego, for his part, had made a convalescing, wounded, tired and weakened young woman drink, a woman who was just emerging from a long unconsciousness interspersed with fits of delirium, and Felipe didn't refrain from telling him so.

He saw Diego's face slowly fall bit by bit right before his eyes, as and when he was reminding him of the señorita's condition, and he asked him his question again: why had he attempted to get the young woman drunk?

Diego sighed.

"I was only trying to get her to talk," he admitted. "That's all."

 _But_ _what about?_ Felipe asked, surprised.

Here, Diego's features hardened again; he got up from his chair and stared down at the young man.

"What do you think?" he barked rather harshly.

Felipe took a step back before this tone and this change of attitude. Seeing this, Diego regretted his fit of temper: usually, he never behaved like that toward Felipe. He sat back and asked him in a somewhat gentler tone:

"Are you sure you have nothing to tell me, that the señorita could tell me too?"

But by the look that came along with this question, Felipe felt that it was a purely rhetorical one: Diego seemed to vaguely know something, but if he had to resort to this less-than-glorious way to try to get the señorita Alacen to talk, it therefore meant that at least in the morning he still didn't know what it was. And since he hadn't come to see him since he came back from the pueblo, it meant that he still did not know...

And for the time being Felipe preferred that it should remain so. While a certain desire to yield to Diego's prodding and poking, to unburden his conscience to him, to confide in him was starting to burgeon in his heart – after all, he told himself, the admission he had to make wasn't that dreadful! – he rejected the idea as soon as it came to his mind: in Diego's current state of annoyance, this wasn't a good idea. His sudden fit of temper a few seconds earlier was a reminder of that.

Felipe therefore resolved to act all innocent, trying to be as persuasive as he could. Over the years he had gotten the very well practised at concealing, deceiving, fooling everyone around him, lying – no, not _lying!_ All he'd been doing all these years was at most masking the truth, _acting,_ wasn't it? Yes, Felipe had become very good at acting, and when he told Diego he had no idea what he was talking about, he thought he was so natural and nonchalant in his denials that he almost convinced himself.

Anyway, this painful scene told him something else: señorita Alacen hadn't spoken. Despite Diego and his cleverness, despite the wine, she had kept the promise she had made to him and managed to hold her tongue: he now has an increased respect for the stranger.

And what Diego had just told him now clearly explained why she had spent most of the day sleeping... No, she didn't have a relapse, as he had previously feared: she had simply been sleeping off her wine!

Seeing Diego's look still set on him, Felipe prudently decided to bring the conversation back to the subject that truly concerned his soon-to-be father: _Victoria Escalante._

 _What would he_ _do, now that they had fallen out?_

"I need to see her, to talk to her."

To set things right? To discuss calmly? Probably, Felipe thought.

 _As soon as tomorrow morning_? he asked Diego.

"No, right now" the latter answered.

_Oh._

Felipe pointed a questioning index at Diego's half-unbuttoned white shirt and at the black trousers he had donned.

"Yes Felipe, dressed as Zorro."

 _Stupid,_ the young man reflected without betraying his thought. _Diego_ was the one who had a problem to settle with Victoria, not Zorro! _He_ was the one who had to confront her, to try to have it out face to face with her to settle a problem that Zorro, for once, could do nothing about!

But for far too long Diego had gotten used to hide behind Zorro to step in whatever, as soon as a problem occurred, and now that this wasn't about public disturbance or abuse of power by the authorities anymore, but a personal hitch between him and the woman he loved, he didn't find in him the courage to openly fight for himself, with his mask off. To plead his own case. To fight for himself, _as_ himself. To face Victoria and all the possibly hurtful things she might tell him.

He was hiding, running away, just like this afternoon which he had spent God knows where, alone, like a wounded animal; and he was holing up, like tonight when he had taken refuge in his underground lair right after dinner.

Out of _cowardice_ , a crestfallen Felipe acknowledged, disillusioned to see his hero crumble, to discover that he was basely and plainly... human. One is always unforgiving when seeing one's living myth collapse, when one discovers that a once worshiped father is actually a man like any other, with the same weaknesses and pettinesses as others.

And Felipe sure was unforgiving when he inwardly called Diego a coward. _Coward_. The very qualifier that he never would have believed he'd associate with him. But now he was finally opening his eyes and discovered that yes, Diego de la Vega, who feared neither soldiers, nor the iron of swords, nor the fire of muskets, nor the alcalde's threats, Diego de la Vega was afraid of Victoria Escalante. Shrank from her. And felt the need to hide behind Zorro's mask to dare talk to her.

Well, what good would that do to him to hear her tell her masked Fox all the low opinion she had of Diego de la Vega? To hear her repeat how much _he_ , Zorro, was different from this Don Diego whom definitely couldn't be counted on? A few kisses given to Zorro might be an ephemeral bandage on Diego's wound, but they also threatened to deepen, worsen and inflame the wound they would cover...

It was stupid, absurd and ludicrous. And Diego, or at least the oh-so rational and logical part in him couldn't ignore it was. And yet, every time he went back there, just like the bug attracted by candlelight came and burned its wings on the flame.

Love turned the most sensible of men into a complete idiot. And worse, it made him careless, reckless, disregarding dangers.

No, really, Felipe again vowed to himself while watching Zorro ride away in the night, he would _never_ let himself fall in love!


End file.
